


Inconveniently Charming

by stevonnie00



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Coming Out, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares, Slow Burn, Trauma, but it will happen, i mean really slow burn yall, like super slow, so get excited
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:15:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 35
Words: 56,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25642657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stevonnie00/pseuds/stevonnie00
Summary: The war is over, but no one seems to be able to put it behind them. The Golden Trio returns to Hogwarts for one last year. All Harry wants is for someone else to be in charge for once, but when he's made Head Boy and charged with keeping a careful eye on Draco Malfoy, the prospect of a quiet year vanishes.A fic about growth, righting old wrongs, and learning from past mistakes.
Relationships: Brief Harry Potter/Hannah Abbott, Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Comments: 255
Kudos: 478





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> HI GUYS ! AH okay so I can't believe I'm actually writing this so here we are. For all of my wonderful TikTok followers - I adore every one of you! I really hope you guys like the fic! It's my first fic so please be kind, but I would love it if y'all would rate and review it.
> 
> I am 100% sure I will eventually change the title lol I'm really bad with titles
> 
> Also SLIGHT TW - mentions of eating disorder tendencies. Nothing major and NOTHING glorifying eating disorders.

Harry stood on the near empty platform and checked his watch. 10:15. Damn. He’d never been this early before; it was strange being here with so few people. It reminded him of … but no, he was trying to put the past behind him. At least that was what he’d promised Hermione.

“I’m worried about you. You haven’t been yourself. I didn’t expect you to go back to normal right away or course… everyone processes trauma differently. But –"  
“I’m fine ‘mione, really.”  
“Would you tell me if you weren’t?”  
“Of course.”

A lie, but a necessary one. Hermione had enough going on; he didn’t need her worrying about his mental stability or lack thereof. He checked his watch again. 10:17. He sighed and decided to search the station for a coffee shop. He should have anticipated this, should have known the commute wouldn’t have taken as long as it had before. He’d traded hectic car rides for apparition this year, but had still left at the same time as always, subconsciously anticipating something would slow him down as it always had in years past. 

He smiled at the memory of Fred and George’s fireworks going off in the muggle taxi, but the smile quickly faded when he remembered Fred was gone. All his memories seemed dangerous these days, filled with people he couldn’t think of without feeling pain. He tried not to think about the past, he really did, but thinking about the present wasn’t much better. And the future? Worse still. 

That was why he was going back, really. To avoid the future, the uncertainty. The dream of being an auror he had felt so strongly when in school had faded as quickly as the final battle had begun. All the fighting, the anger… how could anyone have that as a career? Ron still wanted to be an auror; he still felt all the self-importance of being the knight in shining armor, but Harry was more jaded. All the fight had gone out of him. 

He found a small shop right outside the barrier selling coffee and donuts. He took one of each, even though he wasn’t hungry. That was another thing he’d lost. It was like he was slowly losing everything that made him human – appetite, anger at injustice, even desire for companionship. When Gin had told him she wanted a break, “Just to figure out how to be on my own again”, he hadn’t given it a second thought, hadn’t felt any disappointment or resentment. She needed to grieve, and if this was how she wanted to do it, Harry was more than willing to oblige. He hadn’t been the best boyfriend towards the end anyway, frequently canceling plans last minute, and even when he did show up, his mind was usually elsewhere. 

He forced himself to take a bite of the donut. It was lukewarm, but not bad. He hadn’t had anything other than lasagna in a while – a dish Hermione had brought over to him last month that he just kept duplicating magically. A never-ending meal. He often wondered why he wasn’t tired of the lasagna yet before remembering that he rarely tasted what he ate anymore. Eating had ceased to be an activity for enjoyment; it was purely for survival now. He only ate to keep himself alive, and some days he failed to even do that. He had to remind himself.

Which was what he was doing now as he chewed the quickly cooling donut. Chew, chew, swallow, take another bite, sip of coffee, chew. It was a routine, and Harry was doing what he could to go through all the motions. He checked his watch again. 10:28. He wondered what time Ron and Hermione would get here. They would certainly be coming together, possibly with Mr. or Mrs. Weasley in tow. Harry and Hermione had both started living at the Burrow after the war. The community was comforting, and being surrounded by love was what they had needed. But Harry quickly began to feel stifled, both by the constant inquiries by both Mrs. Weasley and Hermione after his mental health, and by his slowly disintegrating relationship with Ginny. 

After about a month, he’d moved out, first to Grimmuald Place, and then to an apartment in London. Grimmauld held too many uncomfortable memories, too many thoughts Harry wasn’t ready to unpack and process yet. So he’d fled the house that had once belonged to his Godfather to his new strange apartment, strange because it felt for the first time like he was really on his own. He was still always welcome at the Burrow, of course, and he showed up for Sunday dinner on a semi-regular basis, but he had begun to feel out of place. All of the Weasley’s and Hermione were grieving, but Harry’s pain felt somehow different. He felt separate from them, and as the summer wore on, he’d begun to come visit less and less. 

Had it really been only 4 months ago they had all been at Hogwarts fighting in a war? It seemed like both a lifetime ago and like it was only yesterday. Everything had seemed to be in limbo. He’d only decided last week that he’d wanted to come back this year. He was unsure for the longest time, unsure if this would help him. He was scared to see the school again, worried about the memories it would bring back. 

Memories filled with people gone, words he had left unsaid. 

Chew, chew, swallow, sip coffee, check watch. 10:35. They may be here; Hermione liked to be early. He stood up and brushed the donut crumbs off his shirt. He sighed; the donut was only half gone. Making a mental note to buy some chocolate on the train, he threw it away. The coffee he kept. He’d had trouble sleeping since the war and hadn’t gotten more than a few hours of sleep last night. He sipped it slowly as he walked back through the barrier. 

He only had to wait a few minutes before Ron and Hermione showed up, hand in hand. Seeing them together wasn’t nearly as awkward as it had been at first, but it still made him feel like an outsider, intruding on their newly found happiness. 

If they felt the same way, they didn’t show it. Hermione ran up to him and hugged him tight while Ron stood behind her grinning. Harry quickly found himself smiling too; it had been too long since he’d seen them like this – without the distractions of the Weasley household. 

It was good to see them without Ginny around; he was able to forget the questioning looks Ron gave him whenever he saw them together in a room.

He shook his head and tried to put thoughts of Ginny aside. He wanted this to be a year where he could figure out how to move forward, and focusing endlessly on his failed relationship wouldn’t do anything to help that. 

“Mr. and Mrs. Weasley couldn’t make it then?”

Ron rolled his eyes.

“Just call them Arthur and Molly, mate – we’re adults now.”

Harry shrugged, calling Ron’s parents by their first names felt foreign to him. It felt like something “Adult Harry” would do. Cool, confident adult Harry who knew exactly what he wanted to do with his life and felt stable enough to refer to people by their first names. He certainly didn’t feel like Adult Harry right now. 

He forced a laugh and changed the subject. 

“How was the commute?”

Hermione gave him a strange look and then glanced at Ron who frowned slightly.

“We apparated mate.”

Harry felt all the comfortability of seeing his friends he’d felt a minute ago melt away.

“Oh, right yeah. I did too. I just – I don’t know. Feel’s weird not coming by car right?” He was rambling, hoping they understood.

To his relief Hermione put her hand on his shoulder and smiled.

“I said the same thing to Ron earlier. This year already feels so different. At least we’re still riding the train though!”

Ron’s eyes went out of focus and a dreamy smiled appeared on his face. 

“Trolly witch,” he said. 

Harry smiled, happy to see some things hadn’t changed. He was sure Ron would still enjoy himself immensely at the opening feast before they all headed up to – 

“Wait, where are we all sleeping? Think they’ll add rooms to the tower?”

“I’m not sure,” Hermione said. “Maybe they’ll put us somewhere else.”

Harry frowned. The idea of not being in the Gryffindor tower made him uncomfortable. It had been his home since he was 11. He hadn’t considered until now that they may not be staying there this year. 

The sound of the steam engine entering the station distracted him from his thoughts.

“Shall we, milady?” Ron asked with mock gallantry, sweeping a top hat off his head he had conjured up for dramatic effect. Hermione laughed. 

“It’s going to be excellent to do magic outside classes this year,” Ron said excitedly. Hermione’s grin vanished and she looked reproachful. 

“Just because we’re of age doesn’t mean the rules don’t apply anymore.”

Ron huffed, clearly irritated at the thought of not being allowed to conjure top hats at will. Harry personally didn’t think these new restrictions would affect him that much. He hadn’t been doing much magic lately, just the necessities. Sometimes he would go days without touching his wand, forgetting about magic altogether. 

“… right Harry?”

The sound of his name snapped Harry out of his thoughts.

“Sorry, what?”

Hermione sighed and patiently repeated her question.

“I said we should get on now before more people show up. More private that way.”

Harry understood her immediately. He’d spent all summer avoiding anyone other than those close to him. His one trip to Diagon Alley to pick up some supplies before the start of the year had resulted in him being mobbed by people all wanting to talk to him, get photos of him, just brush up against him – to say they had touched the one who saved them all. 

Harry apparated away before he’d had time to go to the first shop. He owl ordered everything he needed instead. He wasn’t looking forward to getting back to the crowds. Every time he started to feel normal again something like this reminded him of the impossibility he could just feel like a normal 18-year-old. 

“Yeah let’s go ahead, get a compartment before everyone starts staring.”

They climbed onto the train and picked the compartment furthest from the front, hoping (in vain) to avoid any unwanted attention. They quickly realized attention would find them if they took steps to avoid it or not. As the train began to fill up people started venturing back to their compartment, some stealing quick glances and hurrying away, some blatantly staring. 

Ron gave a low groan, causing Harry to look up from the window. He caught a glimpse of familiar blonde hair moving into the compartment across from them and knew immediately who it belonged to.

“Can’t believe Malfoy’s come back,” Ron said. “You’d think he’d be smart enough to guess no one wants him here.”

“I think it’s very noble of him to come back to finish his education,” Hermione said diplomatically. When Ron raised his eyebrows, she blushed and avoided eye contact.

“Although… it is a little strange seeing him back.”

“More than a little,” Ron said. “He must be mad to come back.”

They both looked at Harry, anticipating his response. They likely expected anger, or something similar to the paranoia surrounding Malfoy’s actions that Harry had been possessed by in their 6th year. 

But Harry found it difficult to feel anything other than a muted dislike. Malfoy had looked so pale and fragile at his trial that it had been hard to feel anything but sympathy for him, especially when Harry knew it had likely only been because of Malfoy not immediately confirming Harry’s identity at the Manor that the three of them had gotten away without meeting Voldemort. 

More than anger, Harry wondered if he still looked as sickly as he had at the trial, curious how he had been coping with his mother in Azkaban. It had been Harry’s testimony on both Malfoy and his mother’s behalf that had lightened their sentences – Narcissa getting only a year in Azkaban and Malfoy getting no time at all, only a two year probation. 

Lucius had gotten no such testimony from Harry. 

He sighed and tried to put it out of his mind and focus on the conversation with Ron and Hermione which had now shifted to if 8th year students would be allowed to play Quidditch. 

It wasn’t long before Neville and Luna entered the compartment. Harry was happy to see them, he expected to see Luna who was finishing her 7th year, but he hadn’t been sure if Neville would come back. Based on their reactions, Ron and Hermione hadn’t either. 

“Wasn’t sure if you’d be back mate,” Ron said, clapping him on the back. Neville grinned. 

“Gran didn’t want me to, said being a war hero and all, her words, I could get a job anywhere I wanted. But I wanted to come back. Didn’t seem right to not finish up here. Not sure what else Hogwarts can teach me, but I’d like to feel like a student one more time. Let someone else have the responsibility.” 

He laughed, and Harry knew exactly how he felt. He was looking forward to not being in charge.

The train started up soon after that, and the 4 of them passed the journey chatting about what food they would see at the feast, how many new students would be sorted tonight, anything but the war Harry could tell still laid so heavily on all of them. They weren’t as animated as usual, even Luna’s usually dreamy quality seemed more like brooding silence today. 

But it was still the happiest Harry had been in a while. Maybe he’d been wrong to isolate himself, maybe to heal he needed to be around other people. He made a mental note to try and spend more of his free time in groups; isolation clearly hadn’t worked as well as he thought it had. 

When the Trolly Witch came by Harry bought snacks for everyone, way more than they needed, especially considering he wasn’t planning to eat much of it, but it made him feel good to do something helpful, and he had the money for it. He, Neville, and Ron had a competition to see who would eat the weirdest looking Bertie Bott’s beans. Neville tapped out after round 4 (a strange pale yellow bean with green flecks), and Ron and Harry both in round 5 after getting identical clear beans, both terrified it was spit flavored. Luna showed them both up by plopping them both in her mouth, to Neville’s horror. 

“Water,” she said calmly. Harry and Ron laughed, and Hermione smiled over her book. 

“Already getting prepared for classes Hermione?” Neville asked. 

“Yes! I’m taking the advanced Arithmacy course this year. If I don’t start studying now, I’ll be behind.”

“Hard for you to fall behind when the only student who knows more than you is the teacher,” Ron said. Hermione shook her head disbelievingly, but she gave him a half smile. 

“I just hope I’m able to keep up with all the 7th years. We took a whole year off classes, I’m sure we’ll be behind.”

“We didn’t really do much learning last year,” Neville said darkly. “Between being forced to torture first years and hiding in the Room of Requirement there wasn’t much time for studying."

They were all quiet, the cheerful atmosphere from earlier gone. They all remembered now why they were still here, why they hadn’t graduated in May like normal. 

They were quiet the rest of the ride, only talking intermittently. Hermione stayed focused on her book, but Harry noticed her eyes weren’t always moving. Ron and Neville started a half-hearted game of exploding snap before putting it away after the first round. Luna stared out the window, eyes, Harry was sure, searching for creatures no one else could see. 

Harry tried to nap. Closed his eyes and hoped for sleep that didn’t come. He would need to get some sleeping draught from Madam Pomfrey when he got to school. He was sure he wouldn’t be the only one.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all ! SO basically I'm aiming to upload a chapter every Thursday - if I'm a bit late don't be surprised, I'm a huge procrastinator. This one's a bit shorter than the last - sorry about that - BUT the next one is going to be nice and long so get excited. 
> 
> for all my tiktok followers - I'll upload a video every time I post a chapter so y'all can keep up with when new chapters are uploaded. if any of y'all want to follow me on tiktok my username is @whattimeisitrightnow.com (I mostly post drarry stuff). 
> 
> also I already changed the title, but don't get attached! I'll def be changing it again. I have a hard time with titles, but I'm sure I'll come up with something... eventually. 
> 
> aaanyway please comment your thoughts and stuff! lots of love to all y'all

By the time they pulled into Hogsmeade station, Hermione had nearly finished her book. The lanterns were on, and they all changed into their robes. Ron’s were nearly an inch short. 

“Damn, didn’t think I’d grown that much last year,” he said. Hermione smiled sympathetically and aimed her want at the hem of his robes which lengthened to cover his ankles. Ron looked at her in wonder.

“Non-verbal?”

She smiled. 

“While you and Charlie have been playing Quidditch I’ve been taking time to make sure I’m prepared for this year.”

Ron slung his arm over Hermione’s shoulder and laughed. 

“Good to know spending a year running around the woods and breaking into government buildings hasn’t changed some things.”

They both laughed, and Harry smiled, trying to enjoy the moment but unable to totally shake his anxiety. Seeing the castle in the distance reminded him that this was all happening, he was going back. Rather than excitement, his main feeling was worry. He hadn’t been back for classes in so long, would it be the same? What if he’d forgotten everything?

More than that though, he knew that he wouldn’t be able to be in the building without remembering painful things, memories he had tried to put aside since May. Being back where it all happened would bring the memories back, and he was terrified he wouldn’t be able to shut them out anymore. 

Hermione would tell him this was a good thing, that he should talk about how he feels and that talking about it would help him heal. But he’d tried to talk, and it had only made things worse.

He wasn’t ready. 

He shook his head and was surprised to see they were already hopping on the carriage. Hermione and Neville were chatting excitedly about new plants Professor Sprout had planned for the 7th and 8th years, Sprout and Neville had apparently been pen pals over the summer, and he was planning to shadow her during their Herbology classes. 

“You’re going to get so much hands on experience,” Hermione was saying. Her eyes were bright and she was speaking with her hands. “I think I may speak with Professor Vector about if I can shadow him. The more I think about it the more I think I’d like to pursue Arithmacy as a career…”

Harry tuned them out again and stared out at the castle, trying not to think too hard about how different it would look, worried the suits of armor would still be overturned and the marble Entrance Hall scorched with remains of unforgivables. 

“Mate, you okay?” Ron asked quietly. Hermione and Neville were still chatting about classes and didn’t pay them any attention. Harry sighed. 

“Just feels weird being back after… you know.”

Ron looked at him sympathetically and nodded. 

“Yeah, I know what you mean. ‘Mione and I were talking about that last night. May not seem like it but she feels weird about going back, and I bet Neville and Luna do too.” 

Harry looked over at Luna, gazing out the carriage window. She didn’t seem any more worried than usual, and Hermione and Neville seemed like two carefree students eager to get back in the classroom. Even if they were worried, they didn’t show it. They could still act like themselves. He was the only one who couldn’t put on a convincing happy face. 

But he had to try, for his friends’ sake. 

“Should be fine once we get up to the common room, yeah?” Ron asked, still looking worried. 

Harry smiled, cheered by the thought of his four-poster bed. The smile disappeared, however, when he remembered Hermione’s comment from earlier that McGonnagall may put them somewhere else.

“You don’t really think they’d stick us somewhere else do you?” Harry asked. 

Ron frowned. “After we literally saved the world? I think they owe us one.” 

They both laughed at the absurdity of it all. Less than 4 months ago they were risking their lives, not sure if they would survive the year, and now their biggest concern was if they would get to sleep in their old room or not. 

Suddenly Harry felt lighter. 

The carriage halted, and the 5 of them stepped out and into the Entrance Hall. Harry’s agitation returned, but it turned out to be unnecessary. The restoration crew had done an excellent job restoring the Hall to its former glory, with only an errant scorch mark to suggest any conflict had happened here. 

Harry wasn’t sure how that made him feel, but it was certainly better than what he had been imagining. The other 8th years were queued in front of the door to the Great Hall, standing awkwardly without much conversation. 

“Ernie, what’s going on?” Ron asked.

Ernie MacMillan looked at them and shrugged. 

“Came in here and everyone else was standing around, apparently McGonagall told them to wait before going in. Wants to talk to us or something.”

“What about?” Ron asked. 

“Dunno. S’pose it’s probably something about classes.” 

He groaned, as if even the thought of classes distressed him. Hermione, on the other hand, looked excited.

“Do you think they’ll use our to OWL results to decide which classes we can take? Maybe we’ll have to sit exams before classes start to see where we are.”

“No way I’m taking an exam before the year even starts!” Ron said in horror. “They can’t make us do that, it’s unjust!”

“Unjust is that we all missed out on a real education last year,” Hermione said. “It would make sense that they’d try and fit double the education in this year.”

She then turned back to Ernie, no doubt discussing her plans for the school year. Ron looked at Harry with a pained expression, and Harry wondered if the idea of early exams had made even Ron lose his appetite. He smiled at the thought. 

Just then the door to the Great Hall swung open and McGonagall came out in robes of brilliant emerald and cream, pointed had on her head as always. She looked the same as she had in May, except more relaxed, wearing her trademark thin-lipped smile.

“Welcome back,” she said in a sincere voice. “It’s wonderful so many of you decided to return to Hogwarts to formally finish your education.” 

She paused, and for a moment looked on the verge of tears. Tears of joy for her returned students or of sadness for the ones they had lost, Harry couldn’t be sure. 

But the moment passed, and she continued. 

“I’m sure you all are wondering about how your classes will look this year,” – Hermione was practically bouncing on her feet – “but we’ll have time to discuss that tomorrow at breakfast. For now, I’d like to discuss living situations.”

It was just then that Harry saw out of the corner of his eye Malfoy, leaning up against the wall apart from the crowd, looking for all the world like he was sulking. His arms were crossed and his eyes on the floor – distinctly uninterested in what the Headmistress was saying. 

Harry felt a surge of anger, so unlike the apathy that had plagued him for months he nearly gasped. After everything Malfoy had done, McGonagall had still allowed him to return to finish his education. The least he could do was listen to what she had to say. 

He glared at Malfoy, not hearing what McGonagall was saying. He was too focused on the boy at the edge of the group.

Malfoy seemed to sense Harry’s eyes on him and condescended to glance in his direction. Their eyes met, and Harry saw Malfoy looked just as angry as Harry felt. This was surprising. After he spoke at his trial, Harry had expected… well not appreciation or thanks – but at least a lessening of Malfoy’s dislike. That didn’t seem to be happening. 

Maybe this year wouldn’t be that different after all. 

“Can you believe this?” Ron asked him in an irritated whisper. Harry’s eyes snapped over to him. He didn’t seem to have noticed Harry’s lapse in concentration.

Fortunately, Ron didn’t seem to expect a response. When Harry looked back at Malfoy, his eyes were back on the ground. 

Harry didn’t have time to ponder it, however. McGonagall had wrapped up her speech, and the 8th years were moving into the Great Hall.

Harry quickly saw one of the things he’d missed in the speech. 

The four house tables were still in their usual places, but there was now the addition of a fifth, smaller table in front of the others directly below where the professors sat that the 8th years were all now making their way towards. Harry inwardly groaned. Any attempts to avoid Malfoy would be null and void if they were forced to sit at the same table. 

Not that he’d come into the year planning to avoid Malfoy. He’d wondered once or twice after the trial if Malfoy would return to Hogwarts for the year, and when mulling it over, always decided that if the both of them ended up back at school, he would do his best to be cordial, and give Malfoy the benefit of the doubt. The way he looked at the trial, Harry thought Malfoy’d changed. He knew they would never be friends, but he’d hoped they could maybe be slightly more than enemies. 

But the way he’d acted when McGonagall was speaking – the glare he gave Harry… it was clear Malfoy hadn’t changed at all.

He sighed and made an inward resolution to do everything in his power to keep his distance. The last thing he needed was another year arguing with Draco Malfoy.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kay so remember when I said last week that this chapter would be super long? 
> 
> ... Sorry lol. It's longer than last week's though! 
> 
> As always please comment and review and stuff. I love reading your guys's comments, it gives me so much serotonin. 
> 
> On a more personal note - I hope everyone is staying safe. COVID is tough for everyone; I know I've been mentally struggling this week. Writing this has been a fun distraction from everything. I hope you guys enjoy!!
> 
> See y'all next week!

Harry took the seat on Ron’s left with Hannah Abbott on his right. This new table was identical to the old except in size, but it felt somehow more uncomfortable. The Gryffindor table had always been rowdy and loud, but this new 8th years only table was stiff. The silence was palpable, and everyone seemed to be uncomfortable with the new arrangements. Only Malfoy seemed unfazed by the developments, still as stoic and disagreeable as he had been in the Entrance Hall. He was sitting at the end of the table, seemingly trying to stay as far from everyone as the small table would allow. Only Blaise Zabini sat close to him, but neither of them were talking. 

Harry moved his eyes away from Malfoy with difficulty to focus on the Great Hall. Other the new table, everything seemed to be as it was before. The ceiling showed a clear sky, blue and purple with visible stars. As Harry was examining it, one shot across the ceiling. 

It was incredible, really. Almost everything was the same. 

Harry was pulled from his musings by Ron elbowing him in the ribs as he shrugged out of his sweater he’d put on over his robes late into their train ride. Hermione’s lingering look of disapproval told Harry that Ron had just been chewed out, likely for being out of uniform. 

“Can’t believe they’re shoving us somewhere else. You’d think they could have just added another floor on the tower,” Ron said, continuing a conversation Harry had missed the first part of. 

“Well that’s fine for Ravenclaw and Gryffindor,” Hermione said, “But what about the others? They don’t have towers to just add floors too.”

“Extension charms, and if not that, have ‘em sleep in their common rooms. So long as we could have stayed with Gryffindor I don’t really mind where they others stayed.”

Hannah gave Ron a dirty look. Hermione looked at her apologetically. 

“You’re with me on this, right Harry?” Ron asked. Harry blinked. 

“What?”

Hermione looked appalled. 

“Please tell me you didn’t ignore McGonagall’s speech earlier,” she said. 

“Got distracted. Malfoy was – “ 

Ron and Hermione cut him off with identical groans. 

“Not again,” Ron said. 

“What? But I – ”

“Harry, please don’t let your… fixation with Malfoy get in the way of you finishing your education,” Hermione pleaded. 

“But I didn’t – ”

“Because if this is going to be like your 6th year obsession all over again, you can find yourself two new best friends,” Ron said. 

Harry glowered at them in frustration. 

“I am not fixated on Malfoy! All I was going to say is that I saw – ” he checked to make sure none of their neighbors were listening to him, before lowering his voice “ – I saw him glaring at the floor during McGonagall’s speech. Like he was angry! McGonagall went to the trouble of letting him come back and he was acting like an ungrateful…” Harry stopped talking when he saw the looks on Ron and Hermione’s faces. He frowned. 

“I’m not fixating, and I’m not obsessing. I was just observing and ended up missing part of the announcements, that’s all. Now could one of you fill me in instead of looking at me like that?”

Ron snickered.

“Relax, no one’s looking at you like anything. Just don’t want another year where the only thing you talk about is Malfoy. It was constant mate. Swear half my dreams that year were nightmares about him. I couldn’t escape.” 

Ron jokingly shuddered, lightening the mood. Harry chuckled. 

“So what else did I miss then? No Gryffindor tower, where are we staying?”

“Ah, ah, ah – you’ll have to wait and find out,” Ron said in a mock serious voice. “That’s what you get for paying attention to the slimy ferret instead of our fearless leader Minerva.” 

“Ron,” Hermione chided. She was undoubtedly preparing to lecture him about using the Headmistress’ first name, but just the Hagrid came through the door with the year’s group of first years. 

The group was small, but Harry supposed that was to be expected. He guessed parents were still hesitant to send their kids away. He found himself hoping next year’s class would be bigger. He hated the thought that parents didn’t trust Hogwarts with their kids anymore. 

Never mind that less than an hour ago he’d been hesitant about his decision to come back as well. 

Low numbers aside, there were at least 25 new kids in the group. Ron’s stomach grumbling suggested he would have preferred even less kids – the fewer the students to Sort, the quicker they could all eat. Harry smiled at the thought. 

The first girl, short and plump with a head full of thick curly hair was clambering on to the stool. McGonagall put the hat on her head. It lingered for about 30 seconds before declaring – 

“GRYFFINDOR!” 

Harry found himself clapping along even though he supposed he wasn’t officially a Gryffindor anymore. As the Sorting went on, he saw the other 8th years around him do the same. One boy was under the hat for a particularly long time, nearly 3 minutes, and when the hat finally declared him a Ravenclaw, Terry Boot and Cho cheered louder than anyone at the Ravenclaw table. 

When the Sorting was over – “Finally,” Ron said – McGonagall took the stage.  
\  
“I know you’re all hungry, so I’ll save all important information until after the feast. For now – welcome new students, and welcome back to the old. A lot has changed since many of you were last here, but I hope you all still see Hogwarts as your home.” 

With that, she waved her hand, and plates of food appeared. Ron made an appreciative noise before loading up on chicken wings and mashed potatoes. Harry was surprised to find he had an appetite. The realization made him feel comfortable, more normal. He filled his plate with roast beef and potatoes, maybe slightly less than he would have two years ago, but still more than he’d been eating lately. Hermione and Ernie were having a spirited discussion about the best fertilizer to use for rare fire shrubs – “Nothing water soluble, obviously, but nothing with an acidic base either, it only makes the flames hotter which can ignite the roots and kill the plant” – and Ron was hyper focused on inhaling as many chicken wings as possible. 

Harry didn’t speak much but enjoyed the conversations around him. He’d been on his own so much the past few months he’d forgotten how nice it was to be in a group. He could feel the happiness around him, and it improved his mood.

He was finishing his second piece of treacle tart when the dishes disappeared. The mood in the Hall shifted to attentive as McGonagall took the stage. The chatter quieted and heads turned towards her. 

The Headmistress adjusted her pointed hat and took a long look around the room before clearing her throat. 

“I mentioned earlier, but I want to reiterate how happy I am to see so many of you back this year. The past few months have been difficult for everyone, and I know the decision to come back this year wasn’t an easy one.”

She paused, and Harry felt like her eyes lingered on the Slytherin table, which was looking bare. Harry wasn’t surprised. The stigma surrounding Slytherin had always been strong, but with so many convicted Death Eaters having ties to the house, it made sense parents wouldn’t want to send their Slytherin children back. The affiliation could be harmful. 

She continued. 

“While we are here, we are Sorted into houses. But our houses do not define us. We are still first and foremost part of the Hogwarts family. Your houses are where you will find peers similar to you, who will help you develop skills you already have a strong proclivity towards. But now more than ever it is crucial that we all interact with people different from us. That is why starting next week, every Tuesday and Thursday after dinner we will be hosting a discussion forum. Students will be divided into small groups with members from each house and we will give you all the opportunity to discuss current events with your group members. Sharing ideas with people who think differently than you will help you see problems in different ways.”

She paused for a moment and continued. 

“The attendance of these sessions will be mandatory. The discussion group you will be in will be listed on your course schedule. Groups will meet once every two weeks.”

Ron groaned. Harry personally supported more inter-house unity, but wasn’t sure mandatory meetings was the way to do it. His class list was already going to keep him busy. 

“The first hour of these sessions will be dedicated to discussions, the second to a study hall where groups can utilize the time to work on schoolwork together. This will not be a time for socialization… although I do hope you all find some new friendships through this endeavor.”

Even from his isolated spot at the end of the table, Harry could hear Malfoy snort, clearly not believing any friendships could be forged through this. Harry felt himself getting angry again. After everything that happened, how could Malfoy still think he was better than everyone else? 

His hands clenched into fists, but he forced himself not to glare at Malfoy. Harry didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing how much he’d angered him. 

Instead he focused back on McGonagall who was finishing up by encouraging students to ask their teachers if they needed help, and emphasizing the new mental health resources they had on site. 

“We’ve added 3 new members of the staff, Alva Jennings, Veda Bhagwat, and Richard Rogers. They’re all highly accomplished mind healers from St. Mungo’s. I strongly encourage anyone struggling, especially those affected by the events of last year, to visit them. They are here to help.” 

Harry could feel Hermione looking at him. He would no doubt get a lecture from her after dinner about the importance of mental health, and the reality of trauma. He sighed. 

McGonagall was wrapping up. 

“Now off to bed, you all have a long day of classes tomorrow. 8th years please stay behind for a few additional announcements.” 

The benches scraped on the floor as students flooded out of the Great Hall. Harry watched the Gryffindors with some envy. He thought of his 4-poster bed and the roaring common room fire. He hoped their new living quarters would be as cozy. 

McGonagall came and stood at the head of their table. Harry hoped she would give her announcements quickly; he was starting to get tired. 

She didn’t smile at the group, but Harry could tell by the look in her eyes that she was genuinely glad to see them. 

“As I said earlier, I am very glad so many of you decided to officially finish your schooling. This year is going to be different than the traditional year. The professors and I have talked it through and have decided that you all could benefit from more hands-on experience. For the first four days of the week, your courses will be like years past, but every Friday will be dedicated to an on-site job shadowing. For the first two months you will all meet with me and the other professors to discuss your career ambitions. Once you’ve decided what you want your future to look like, we will place you with someone in your field of choice to get real-world experience.”

Hermione looked ecstatic at the prospect of real-world experience. Ron looked faintly green.

“That’s all for now; you’ll get your individual Friday meeting times on your course schedules at breakfast tomorrow. Oh – and I encourage all of you to take full advantage of the new mind healers. Some of you had personal experience with the fighting in May… and I think many of you could benefit from this.”

Hermione gave Harry a pointed look, which he ignored. 

“Come along then; I’m sure you’re anxious to see where you’ll be staying this year. I know many of you may feel strange not living in your usual dormitories, but I hope you’ll find the new space we have set aside for you suitable.”

The group stood up and followed behind McGonagall to their new living quarters.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi - got this one up a bit early!
> 
> This chapter is a bit slow... housekeeping stuff. But I hope you all like the space I've created for them to live in! I promise things will pick up soon, once they start going to classes and their meetings. And fear not, our boys will start seeing more of each other soon (but not like that... not yet anyway). 
> 
> Hope y'all are well! Please keep leaving comments - I love hearing everyone's thoughts.

McGonagall marched the 8th years out of the Great Hall and past the Grand Staircase. Harry looked wistfully at the ever-shifting stairs and thought of his bed at the top of the Gryffindor tower, no doubt being claimed by a new first year now. He found himself wondering about who would claim the bed that had been his the past 7 years, what kind of life they would make for themselves here. 

What kind of life had he made for himself? 

He supposed that was the entire point of this year, deciding what their futures would look like. The thought of planning his entire life out made him nauseous. He suddenly wished he could trade places with the first year claiming the four-poster bed that was his for so long. Another 7 years without responsibilities was just what he needed. 

The staircase was behind them – they clearly weren’t staying anywhere on the upper levels of the castle. Harry assumed McGonagall would lead them down a corridor on the first floor or down to the dungeons. 

He was wrong on both assumptions. 

To his surprise, McGonagall opened the front doors with a flick of her wand and led them onto the grounds. He looked around and saw everyone was as confused as he was – McGonagall clearly hadn’t specified where they were living in her speech that Harry had ignored. He made a mental note to steal Ron’s favorite sweater later as revenge for making him think he’d missed something important.

“You don’t think we’re bunking with Hagrid, do you?” Ron asked. He sounded nervous, likely thinking of all the rock cakes he was going to be forced to eat. 

Harry laughed. 

“Not unless they had the place magically enlarged. The cabin’s not exactly big, and Hagrid takes up a lot of space,” Harry said. 

“Of course they’re not putting us up with Hagrid,” Hermione said in an exasperated tone.

“Maybe we can bunk with Grawp,” said Ron slyly. “I’m sure he still remembers you ‘Hermy’”. 

Ron and Harry laughed. Hermione rolled her eyes, but Harry saw she was trying to hide a smile. 

It soon became clear where McGonagall was taking them. As they turned the corner past the greenhouses, there were two quaint cottages on either side of a gray stone building with a single tower in its center. The cottages connected to the center building by covered walkways with fire-lit sconces every few feet. The walkways had different types of magical plants hanging off of them – vines with flowers that shifted from purple to blue when the firelight hit them, massive orange bulbs the size of cantaloupes hanging down that glowed faintly and smelled like citrus, scores of different plants that Harry had never seen before or didn’t know the name of. He was sure Neville knew them all. 

McGonagall led them to the center building and opened the doors. She waved her hands and the room lit up – lamps on the tables, sconces in the walls, candles in an ornate magically floating chandelier. Harry looked around the room in awe. 

It was like the library, only cozier. The interior was made of the same gray stone as the outside. Bookshelves lined the walls, going so high that ladders were gently placed alongside them for assistance if students needed to browse titles on upper shelves. The room had windows everywhere; and Harry could tell that during the day it would get a lot of natural light. There were potted plants on the windowsills and hanging plants above circular tables that were clustered in the middle of the room on top of thick Persian rugs. 

There were two fires lit in the room, one on either end by the two staircases that went up to a landing with more chairs overlooking the room, chessboards on side tables next to them. There were comfortable looking chairs by the fires and in small alcoves throughout the room, but the best part was the ceiling. It was enchanted to look like the outside sky like the Great Hall, but unlike the Great Hall, McGonagall told them, this ceiling would mirror the sky of any location requested. 

“Now,” McGonagall said in a business-like tone, “The staff and I decided that since many of you are of age this year, we would give you more privacy and freedom than usually afforded to students. We decided that setting aside this space would be the best way to do this. You’re students this year, but you’re also taking the first steps into your careers. We wanted you to be in a space where you could feel like adults. You will also be permitted to visit Hogsmeade on the weekends whenever you choose, although I do hope this won’t result in poor class performance.” Her eyes narrowed at Ernie MacMillan and Terry Boot who had already started whispering excitedly together. They quickly stopped when they sensed her looking at them and tried to look innocent. 

“Curfew will also be relaxed,” she continued. “You are permitted to be awake in your Common Room’s as late as you choose, as always, but you will now be permitted in the castle until midnight. The front doors will close at 8 pm as usual, but we have enacted a secret passageway so that you can come and go after hours.” She gestured to a large tapestry on the wall with her wand, flicked her wrist, and the tapestry moved aside to reveal a wide passageway lit with floating balls of white light, not unlike the light in Ron’s deluminator. 

Harry yawned, and he saw Ron next to him doing the same. 

McGonagall seemed to sense everyone was tired; she got to the point. 

“I’m sure you all will take the time to explore your new Common Room tomorrow. In the meantime, your rooming assignments. We have two cottages set aside for you, one for the girls and one for the boys. Any gender neutral or non-binary students are welcome to choose whichever group they would prefer to live with. Please let me know and we will make your room assignment accordingly.”  
She flicked her wand and scrolls of parchment appeared on the wall beside her. 

“Your room assignments are here. In every cottage there will be 2 rooms each with their own bathroom. There will be no switching room assignments.” She said this with a stern glare at Harry and Ron. Harry had never considered the possibility that he wouldn’t be rooming with Ron. He felt jittery all of a sudden, anxious for McGonagall to finish her speech so he could go check the lists and confirm that yes, he and Ron would still be rooming together and everything would be as it had been before.

Ron was taller and saw the list first. His groan was all Harry needed to know. 

Ron wouldn’t be living with him this year. 

His ears started ringing, Ron was talking to him but it sounded fuzzy. He started to sweat and suddenly had trouble breathing. 

Ron wouldn’t be living with him this year. Hermione wouldn’t be living with him this year. They would be somewhere else and he… 

Who would he be living with?

The walls were closing in and everything looked strange to him, somehow less colorful than it had been a moment ago. He tried to breathe in, tried to get some air to his lungs but it was past dinner and he was too full and he’d eaten too much, more than he usually did and now he couldn’t breathe and Ron wasn’t living with him this year – 

“Harry!” 

Hermione’s voice pulled him out of whatever void he had been headed to. He shook his head once, twice, and tried to get his bearings. No time seemed to have passed, everyone was still looking at the list. McGonagall hadn’t left yet. 

Ron and Hermione were looking at him with concern. 

“You all right, mate?” Ron asked. “You look pale.”

Harry forced a shrug and tried to look nonchalant. 

“Yeah, s’nothing. Just going to be weird not living together.”

He could tell he hadn’t fooled them with his blasé demeanor. They’d had too much experience dealing with his visions into Voldemort’s mind – they weren’t easily fooled. 

Harry moved past them, needing to see the list for himself. 

Ron was listed first under the boy’s cottage in dormitory one. Under his name was Blaise Zabini, Dean Thomas, Anthony Goldstein, and Ernie MacMillan. Harry was listed under dormitory two along with Terry Boot, Neville Longbottom (he breathed a sigh of relief – he wouldn’t be totally out of his comfort zone) and Draco Malfoy. 

All the comfort he’d felt at the sight of Neville’s name disappeared when he saw Malfoy’s. 

When they had gone to school before he and Malfoy had hated each other… but there had always been barriers between them that usually kept things from getting too out of hand. They hadn’t had all of their classes together, they hadn’t eaten at the same table, they hadn’t shared a Common Room, they hadn’t slept in the same room. 

Now it felt like all those barriers were breaking down; the lines that had been drawn so starkly between them for so many years were blurring. 

There were no longer any external factors separating them. 

Harry wondered which one of them would kill the other first. 

Hermione was looking at him sympathetically and Ron clapped a hand on his shoulder. They knew him well, Harry was sure they could tell he was thinking about the nightmare that would be living with Malfoy. 

“Well, on the bright side, this gives you more opportunities to hex him,” Ron said in an attempt to cheer Harry up. Hermione jabbed him in the ribs with her elbow. 

“Joking ‘Mione,” Ron said, putting his hands up in mock surrender. “Although…”

She jabbed him in the ribs again. Ron yelped this time. 

“Still joking!”

Harry found no joy in Ron’s humor, he was consumed with the thought that for the rest of the year he would be sleeping next to his enemy. 

Enemy? Former enemy? Harry wasn’t even sure what to consider Malfoy anymore. He’d hoped they could move past hating each other into a state of general disregard after Malfoy’s trial, but the look Malfoy had given him before the feast didn’t indicate that he felt anything other than animosity towards Harry. It was as if nothing had changed. 

He didn’t know why he had expected any different. 

He didn’t have any more time to mull over why Malfoy did or did not hate him, McGonagall was leading them to their new rooms. He followed with trepidation. At least you’re still in the same space as Ron, he told himself. At least you’ll be sharing a room with Neville. So what if Malfoy is in there too? Just ignore him. 

Their cottage was a short walk away. Harry noticed that the finely carved oaken door didn’t have a handle. McGonagall put her hand on it and the door swung open. 

“Only people living here will have direct access to this cottage. If anyone else tries to enter on their own, they’ll be unsuccessful. The same goes for the other cottage.” 

She gestured towards the doorway and the fires lit, illuminating the room. 

“Dormitory one is on the right, dormitory two on the left. All of your things should be in your rooms. I’ll see you all bright and early for breakfast tomorrow.”

With that, she swept away, leading the girls to their cottage on the other side. Ron waved to Hermione sadly – Harry was certain she would be spending a lot of nights in their cabin. 

The boys all shuffled their way into the cottage. It had a small sitting area when they first walked in with a few comfy looking chairs and scattered tables. The décor was similar to their Common Room, but on a smaller scale. There was a hallway on either side leading to their bedrooms. 

The two groups began to split, moving towards either side. Malfoy had already darted down the left hall, apparently eager to get away from all of them. Ron looked at Harry and rolled his eyes. 

“Still a twitchy little ferret. If you hex him in his sleep I won’t tell Hermione, honestly.”

Harry smiled grimly. “I think that’d make this harder than it’s already going to be. Best not to provoke him.” 

Ron shook his head and smiled. 

“See you tomorrow mate. And don’t worry too much – we’ll talk to McGonagall about switching rooms. You’re the ‘Chosen One’; she’s bound to give you special treatment!”

Harry didn’t mention to Ron that he didn’t want special treatment from anyone, nor did he think his status as a savior would make McGonagall any more inclined to move him. Instead he just smiled and waved goodnight, promising Ron they would try and convince her tomorrow. 

The others (his roommates, he reminded himself) had already made their way to the room. He quickly realized the mistake he’d made in lingering behind to talk with Ron. There were 4 beds in the room – all identical to the one he’d had in Gryffindor minus the red and gold hangings. The hangings were amethyst in here – his new house color he assumed. The color of the hangings wasn’t the problem though. 

The four beds were arranged two on each side. And in staying behind to talk to Ron, he’d lost the chance to claim his bed. 

Unsurprisingly, Terry and Neville had chosen beds on the same side. Harry looked at the only bed left, next to a bed with the hangings already shut tight where Malfoy was undoubtedly sulking. Neville gave him an apologetic look. 

Harry sighed and took the bed next to Malfoy, wondering again how long it would take for the two of them to snap.


	5. PART ONE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes you read that right, this is just part one of the chapter which is why it's a little on the short end. Part two will be up SUNDAY around noon or so (Eastern Standard Time). 
> 
> Excited for this fic to get going - this chapter (in part two :) ) introduces a dynamic central to the plot. 
> 
> ALSO! No one commented on my last chapter - do you guys like the 8th year space I created? I wanted to give them an area separate from the castle, American college dorm style. 
> 
> Anyways love y'all, hope everyone is doing okay!

When Harry woke the next morning, it was with a nervous anxiety that he pulled open his bed hangings, worried that he would see an angry Malfoy glaring down at him, preparing to hex him. But he needn’t have worried, Malfoy’s bed was neatly made and he was nowhere in sight. Harry breathed a sigh of relief. If Malfoy kept acting like this, maybe they could effectively avoid each other for the entire year. 

Except for the fact that they shared a table at meals. And classes. And a Common Room. 

Harry rubbed his temples, mentally preparing himself for the worst. 

Ron wasn’t in the Common Room; he assumed he’d already gone to breakfast. The Common Room looked different in the daylight – it was more open than he had initially assumed. The light filtered through the abundance of plants giving the room a healthy green tinge that Harry found comforting. 

He opted to walk outside to the Great Hall rather than take the secret passageway. It got chilly in Scotland early, and he wanted to enjoy being outside before it became uncomfortably cold. He looked over at Hagrid’s hut, happy to see smoke coming out of the chimney. He made a mental note to go visit Hagrid sometime this week. He missed going to Hagrid’s for tea, even if he didn’t miss the rock cakes. 

The Great Hall was a hub of activity, heads of houses rushing from student to student handing out timetables. Harry quickly saw Ron and Hermione comparing schedules, and sat down by them. Malfoy, he noticed, was not there. He frowned. Where was he? Surely not in the library – classes hadn’t started yet, there was nothing he could be researching this early in the term. He hadn’t been in the Common Room, maybe he was visiting with a professor? 

Harry found himself wondering if Malfoy was eating okay. Now that he thought about it, the other boy had looked skinny and paler than usual. He’d been so irritated with Malfoy the night before that he hadn’t given it a second thought. 

But now he remembered how Malfoy’s cheekbones, always a defining feature of his face, had looked even more prominent the night before than usual…

“…don’t you think Harry?” Hermione asked. 

Harry’s attention snapped to her, but instead of inventing a response to her question he had only half heard, he involuntarily blurted what was on his mind. 

“I don’t think Malfoy’s eating.”

He realized how ridiculous it sounded the moment he said it. Ron and Hermione looked at him curiously, Ron raising his eyebrows. Harry quickly scrambled to do damage control. 

“What I mean is, er – well he looked skinny last night. And he’s not here at breakfast now, and…” He trailed off. Ron and Hermione were giving each other the look Harry knew all too well – communicating with each other silently over concerns about Harry’s mental state. They’d given each other the same look whenever he’d been seeing into Voldemort’s mind. 

He decided the best option was to backtrack. He couldn’t explain to Ron and Hermione, or even himself, why he was all of a sudden fixating on Malfoy’s health. He guessed it was something to do with how he’d spoken at Malfoy’s trial, something made him feel responsible for him. 

Instead of voicing his theories to Ron and Hermione, he gave a casual shrug.

“Whatever, it’s not a big deal. Just wondering why he’d bother coming back if he’s going to starve himself, that’s all.”

Harry was grateful that Ron and Hermione chose not to mention his own eating habits which hadn’t been exactly consistent of late. He was currently nibbling on a piece of toast that he’d lathered with butter to get his calorie count up. He knew he wasn’t eating like normal yet, but he was trying. 

Ron and Hermione still looked concerned, but to Harry’s relief, they didn’t say anything else about it. Hermione changed the subject to their classes. 

“Have you thought anymore about what you want your career shadowing to be yet, Harry?” she asked. 

Although Harry was grateful for the subject shift, she couldn’t have chosen something he was less enthusiastic to discuss. 

“Nothing yet… I’m hoping classes will make me thing of something.” He could tell Hermione was going to press him for more, so he quickly said, “What about you? I know you were thinking about going into healing – are you still wanting to do that?”

Her eyes lit up, and Harry knew he’d made a good choice. He wouldn’t have to talk again for at least the next 15 minutes. 

Hermione chatted excitedly about her career aspirations – she was still planning to be a healer – until McGonagall came over to the 8th year table to hand out schedules. 

Harry was unsurprised at his – anyone who didn’t already have a solid idea of what they wanted to do after school was given a schedule that was more or less standard. Potions, Transfiguration, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Herbology, Charms. Ron’s schedule was the same. Hermione’s was similar, but with the addition of Arithmacy instead of DADA. 

“You need Arithmacy to be a healer?” Ron asked her. 

Hermione blushed a little. 

“No – not really, but I couldn’t stand the thought of giving it up. It’s my favorite subject, and even if it’s not directly related to healing, it’s always good to have background knowledge about all the subjects!”

Ron rolled his eyes and went back to looking at his schedule. 

“Free period after lunch on Tuesday and Thursday, no classes after 4 on Friday, excellent. Double Potions, Double DADA, Double Herbology on Wednesday though –“ He groaned. Hermione lightly rapped him on the head with her schedule which she’d rolled back into a scroll. 

“The price of having an easy Friday,” she told him.

Ron’s eyes lit up. 

“You know what this means – we can get an early start on the weekend. And we’re allowed to go to Hogsmeade unsupervised now…” 

Harry raised his eyebrows. 

“Honeydukes every weekend? Not sure Mrs. Weasley would approve of that much chocolate.” He laughed, and Ron looked at him incredulously. 

“Not talking about Honeydukes.” 

Harry’s obvious confusion must have shown, because Ron signed. 

“Hog’s Head, mate,” Ron said, like he was explaining something that should have been very obvious. 

“Oh – OH,” Harry said, the pieces clicking together. Ron grinned. 

“Exactly. Weekends are about to be a lot more fun. No more sneaking from the kitchens.”

Harry smiled, reminiscing about Dean’s birthday during their 6th year. Ron and Seamus had snuck down to the kitchens to steal some wine to celebrate – just enough to do a toast. 

The house elves sent them away with three bottles of champagne and a bottle of mead. Needless to say none of them remembered that night clearly. 

“Harry…” Hermione said tentatively. Harry looked up to see Malfoy taking a seat at the end of the table by Zabini. Neither of them spoke. Looking at him now, Harry was surprised he hadn’t noticed how pale he was the minute he saw Malfoy in the Entrance Hall. Malfoy had always been pale, but now his skin had a gray undertone, devoid of color rather than its usual soft complexion. 

He looked away quickly, not wanting to give Ron and Hermione any more reasons to suspect he was “obsessing” with Malfoy. Luckily they weren’t paying him any attention, already preparing to head to Herbology. Harry made to follow them, when McGonagall’s strict voice stopped him. 

“Mr. Potter, might I have a word?”


	6. PART TWO

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PART 2! Really pleased with how this chapter came out. 
> 
> Let me know what y'all think about the ~ interaction ~ in this chapter & the new dynamic!
> 
> THANK YOU TO EVERYONE WHO COMMENTS! It gives me so much happiness seriously I love reading all of them so much. This chapter is a bit longer than usual so enjoy!

Harry immediately began running through all the things he could have done wrong, but it was only his first day. The only thing he’d been guilty of so far was mismatching his socks that morning. 

He looked at Ron and Hermione. They just shrugged and left him to head to class. The other 8th years had headed out as well, leaving him and McGonagall alone. He sighed and turned to her. 

“What’s wrong professor?”

McGonagall’s face remained stern, but he could have sworn she was holding back a smile based on the expression in her eyes. 

“Shocking as it may be, Mr. Potter, you are not in any trouble. Yet.”

Harry breathed a sigh of relief. 

“I wanted to inform you that the staff and I have decided to name you Head Boy.”

She couldn’t have possibly said anything that would have surprised Harry more. 

“I – er… what?”

This time McGonagall did smile. 

“Head Boy, Mr. Potter; I believe you’ve heard of it. Patrol the corridors, make sure no one is getting into any mischief, help protect the student body.”

“Yeah, yeah of course but… I don’t understand why you chose me.”

McGonagall frowned and looked at him with an intensity he hadn’t felt since Dumbledore died. 

“Mr. Potter, you played a pivotal role in saving the school from utter destruction and it is by your actions alone that the wizarding world is now safe. I would have thought it obvious why we decided to offer you this honor.”

Harry rubbed the back of his neck, uncomfortable. He was already subject to students ogling him as he walked down the corridors, the last thing he’d wanted when he’d boarded the train was a position of power. 

But McGonagall was looking at him so intently. He didn’t want to disappoint his favorite professor.

He must have been quiet for too long because McGonagall seemed to sense his hesitation. 

“Think on it, Mr. Potter, and let me know if it’s a role you think you can handle. If not, I am certain we can find someone else for the job.”

Harry nodded and made to move, eager to be out of McGonagall’s watchful gaze. 

“Mr. Potter, before you go there is one more thing I haven’t mentioned.”

Harry turned back to her, bracing himself. Her tone implied it was something he wouldn’t like. 

“We have selected Mr. Malfoy to be the second Head Boy. Traditionally we select one boy and one girl, however for the 8th years we thought it prudent to select the two of you. The staff, myself especially, are hoping that the two of you will be able to put your differences aside. A show of good faith like this would be excellent for morale and help bridge the gaps between the houses.”

Harry was silent. It took his mouth a second to catch up to his brain.

How could she think this was a good idea?

“With all due respect Professor, I don’t really think that’s a very good plan.”

“And why not?” she asked.

“Well, erm, you see… Malfoy and I don’t really get along,” he said lamely. 

McGonagall gave him a piercing look. 

“I’m well aware of that Mr. Potter. As I explained, that is precisely why we think having the two of you representing the school is an ideal situation. Students look up to you. If they see you and Mr. Malfoy working together, perhaps it will encourage them to spend more time with students in… different houses.”

She didn’t have to say Slytherin – Harry could read the subtext. Unfair as it was, the entire Slytherin house was being shunned right now. Harry wasn’t stupid enough to assume every Slytherin was evil, but there was no denying most of the Death Eaters had been Slytherins. It was no secret. 

“Professor, I really don’t think – “ 

“Don’t think, Mr. Potter, listen. You and Mr. Malfoy are adults now. Are you really going to let a silly schoolboy rivalry dictate your relationship with him for the rest of your life?”

She sounded more exasperated that Harry had ever heard her. 

He wanted to tell her that he’d hoped to come into this year with a fresh start, that he’d hoped to move past the hatred and into a state of indifference. He wanted to tell her that when he’d spoken at Malfoy’s trial it had been forgiveness of sorts, or at the very least an admission that Malfoy hadn’t been as in the wrong as his parents. 

They were both victims, shaped by adults into tools of war. He’d hoped for some solidarity if nothing else. 

But he didn’t know how to put any of this in to words, so he just shook his head. McGonagall sighed. 

“I understand you’ve had a difficult time lately. I will not force you into anything you aren’t comfortable with. But I do think this could be an excellent opportunity. Please think on it.”

Harry nodded, and McGonagall waved her hand, a clear dismissal. Harry hurried off to Herbology, certain he was late but his head too full of thoughts on the discussion he’d just had to care. 

He hurried into greenhouse number four ten minutes later, apologizing to Professor Sprout and taking his spot by Ron and Hermione. He noticed Malfoy was off to the side with Zabini, already sifting through the fertilizers laid out on the table in front of him. 

“What’d McGonagall want?” Ron asked. Harry looked to make sure no one was close enough to them to hear. When he felt certain he wouldn’t be overheard, he explained everything she had told him. 

“Head Boy!” Hermione said when he had finished. “That’s fantastic!”

Ron, however, looked less enthused. “Yeah, but Head Boy with Malfoy. I think I’d rather take a swim with the Giant Squid.” 

Harry laughed at that. 

“Do you think you’ll take it then?” Ron asked.

“Of course he will, right Harry?” Hermione asked. “I think McGonagall’s right, seeing you working alongside a former Slytherin could really encourage others to follow suit.” 

She was right, of course. Harry knew that younger kids especially would naturally want to follow his lead. But he still wasn’t sure if he wanted to do it. 

“I have to think about it,” he mumbled. “Not sure I want all the responsibility.”

Hermione looked at him sympathetically. 

“Or to be around Malfoy that much,” he added honestly. 

“Well come on then, you’ll have to think about it after class,” she said briskly. “We have to figure out which fertilizer will create which colors in the Ever-Changing Magnolia and write 12 inches on it by Wednesday.”

Harry groaned; he hadn’t expected classes to start piling work on so quickly. 

By the end of class, they (or Hermione to be more exact) had effectively deciphered which fertilizers resulted in which colors. The purple had given them some trouble – mint and crushed beetles, but the mint had to be properly watered down or it resulted in an ugly shade of puce – but Hermione’s expert researching skills meant they had a better handle of things than any other group in the class. Harry was beginning to feel cheerful again – maybe this semester wouldn’t be so bad. 

His good mood faded immediately, however, when to his horror he saw Malfoy stalking over to them as they were leaving class. 

Before Harry could get a second to wonder at what Malfoy wanted, he was only a few feet from them. His face was bright red and he looked furious. Harry stopped to stare Malfoy down. Ron and Hermione, a few steps ahead of him, stopped to see what was holding him up. When they saw Malfoy, they froze. 

“Can I have a word, Potter?” he asked in an icy tone. Harry looked around and saw Zabini who had been Malfoy’s shadow lately was nowhere to be seen. Harry folded his arms in response, not moving away.

Ron and Hermione were still behind him, waiting to see what happened, wands ready. Malfoy jerked his chin toward them. 

“In private,” he specified. Ron and Hermione looked alarmed. 

But Harry was an adult. He’d faced the darkest wizard to ever live and survived to tell the tale. He didn’t need his friends to babysit him, and he certainly didn’t need Malfoy thinking he couldn’t handle himself. 

He half-turned his head back to Ron and Hermione, keeping one eye on Malfoy. Malfoy rolled his eyes. 

“Go ahead; I’ll see you in Potions,” he told them. 

“But – ” Ron started. Harry cut him off. 

“It’s fine Ron. I’ll see you there.”

Ron didn’t look inclined to leave, but Hermione shuffled him along. Harry was grateful to her. He was worried about what Malfoy had to say, and the last thing he needed was an audience. 

Once Ron and Hermione were far enough away, he turned back to Malfoy. 

“Go on then,” he said. Malfoy was silent for a moment. Harry began to think he’d lost the nerve to say whatever it was he was going to. He was about to make an excuse to leave, when Malfoy blurted out –

“She didn’t give me a choice you know.”

Harry’s mind had gone strangely blank. Malfoy seemed to sense he wasn’t processing at normal capacity. 

“McGonagall. She told me about the Head Boy offer last night. Only it wasn’t an offer for me.”

Harry felt a surge of sympathy. Even though he’d decided to come back, Malfoy couldn’t be a normal student either. Everyone saw him for the person he once was. 

Malfoy glared at him as if sensing Harry’s pity. 

“I don’t appreciate you telling your pathetic friends about how horrible it was to be offered the position. McGonagall clearly gave it to you as a reward, not a punishment. Golden boy Potter, of course she’d give it to you.” 

The sympathy vanished as quickly as it had came. 

“You were listening to us?” Harry asked.

Malfoy snorted in disdain. 

“Of course; hard to ignore my name in your mouth. It’s truly wonderful to hear that it’s my presence that makes you want to turn down the job. Honestly it’s pitiful I have that much of an effect on you.” 

“Look, Malfoy – I don’t know what your problem is, but –” Harry began. 

“You, clearly my problem is you,” Malfoy said angrily, his cheeks coloring. “All I wanted was a normal year but then you – ” he broke off, closing his mouth firmly. 

“I what?” Harry asked. “What exactly is your problem with me? I thought after I spoke at your trial – “ 

He wanted to finish his sentence, really he did, but Malfoy had used a nonverbal hex to glue Harry’s tongue to the top of his mouth. He sputtered furiously, trying to get the words out. Malfoy was breathing heavily, face still red. 

“Just do me a favor Potter, and turn McGonagall down. I see enough of you already.” 

With that, he turned on his heels and walked away, leaving Harry unable to speak. 

15 minutes later Hermione had issued the countercurse, but Harry didn’t stick around to tell her what happened. Hastily muttering to Professor Slughorn that he needed to see McGonagall, he rushed out of the room and to the Headmistress’ office which he found mercifully open. He entered without knocking.

She looked up in surprise. 

“Mr. Potter, shouldn’t you be in class?” 

“I’ll do it,” he said, out of breath from his sprint to her office. “The Head Boy position, I’ll do it.”

Professor McGonagall gave him a thin lipped smile. 

“I am pleased to hear that. Very well Mr. Potter, come by my office after dinner and we’ll discuss your duties. I will let Mr. Malfoy know to come as well. Now off to class; you already missed part of your first period.”

Harry nodded, and began the walk back to the dungeons. When he got back, Ron and Hermione looked at him questioningly, but he ignored them, instead staring down Malfoy who looked back at him with malice.

He would be damned if he let Malfoy tell him what to do.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all! I really liked doing a two part chapter last week - so I've decided to start releasing chapters every Thursday and Sunday, but they'll be a bit shorter - half chapters if you will. 
> 
> I really liked writing this chapter. Banter is one of my favorite things to write. And do not worry - there will be more banter coming in the chapter on Sunday. 
> 
> As always please comment, it gives me so much joy. Much love to everyone.

Harry began regretting his decision almost immediately that evening. He met McGonagall outside her office after dinner as planned. Malfoy was already there, and seeing him made Harry’s resolve waver.

But then Malfoy glared at him, clearly livid that Harry had accepted the position. Harry steeled his resolve, determined to not let Malfoy have the last word. 

McGonagall explained their duties – patrolling corridors on the 3rd, 4th, and 5th, floors for two hours every weeknight, but Harry barely heard her. He was too hyper-focused on Malfoy. What was he thinking? What would they talk about when McGonagall sent them off to do rounds? Would they argue, or just walk in silence. 

Harry wasn’t sure which was worse. 

He found himself hoping McGonagall would accompany them on the rounds, anything to avoid being alone with an angry Malfoy. But to his dismay, she sent them off quickly after explaining how to contact her if they ran into any trouble.

They were silent for the first 20 minutes, walking side by side, a clear gap between them. Harry wanted to say something, to explain why he’d chosen the position, but he wasn’t even totally sure why anymore. To spite Malfoy had certainly been his motive at the time, but surely he’d accepted the position for more reasons than to prove someone wrong, right?

A Gryffindor for a reason, Harry broke the silence first.

“Listen, I’m not any more excited about this than you are but –”

“But nothing, Potter,” Malfoy said angrily. “You could have turned McGonagall down and avoided this whole mess, but your damned Gryffindor ego got in the way.”

Harry was shocked at the fury. He’d expected Malfoy to be cold and removed.

“My Gryffindor ego?!”

“Yes, it’s good to see you can still hear properly. I was worried after I told you to turn this job down and instead you did the exact opposite. Now that I know your ears are working; it’s your sanity I question.”

“I don’t know what you think about Gryffindor’s, but I don’t have a ‘Gryffindor ego’,” Harry said angrily. 

“Oh really?” Malfoy countered. “Tell me Potter, why exactly did you accept this job? Because you seemed conflicted about it when I overheard you in Herbology – talking about how you didn’t want to spend any time with me thank you so much for that – so what made you change your mind?”

Harry was silent. Malfoy took it as an invitation to continue. 

“Because, if I had to take a guess, I’d say it’s because I told you to turn it down. I’d say you only accepted it to spite me and show that you wouldn’t let a filthy Slytherin tell you what to do. Your Gryffindor ego was too delicate to stomach the idea of someone you see as lesser than you telling you what to do.”

“I don’t see you as lesser than me!” Harry said in a heated tone. 

“Oh really?” Malfoy said snidely. 

“Really! Why do you think I spoke up for you at the trial? I thought you’d changed, that you’d become a better person.”

Malfoy looked livid. 

“Well Potter, you’ll be happy to know I’m still the same person I’ve always been. An evil, lying, Death Eater son of a bitch. Does that make you happy?”

“No! I thought this year could be different!”

Malfoy wore his trademark sneer. Harry was surprised to find he’d missed it. The sneer reminded him suddenly of how normal this all felt, him and Malfoy arguing. It was strangely comforting. 

The comfort was shattered with the next words out of Malfoy’s mouth.

“Different?” His tone had shifted from heated to icy – cold and dangerous. 

“How exactly did you expect this year to be different Potter? You walk in, the Savior, the Chosen One, offered the Head Boy position, such an honor. Gawked at by students at every turn, showered with praise by professors, treated like Merlin himself walking among us again.”

He rubbed the back of his head, seemingly awkward suddenly. 

“They stare at me too, you know. But it’s not because they adore me.” He said it in a softer tone, almost regretfully. 

The moment passed, and his tone turned icy again.

“Nothing is different. You’re still a golden prick and I’m still a dark wizard in the making. Isn’t it convenient how easily we fit back into our roles?”

Harry didn’t know how to explain he didn’t want this role, didn’t want to be seen as somewhat ethereal by everyone he passed. He didn’t know how to say that he just wanted to be normal – all he’d ever wanted was to be normal. 

But more than anything, he didn’t know how to explain to himself why it felt critically important to him that Malfoy know these things. He looked at the other boy, staring at him with such anger in his eyes, and felt that he needed to explain that this perception Malfoy had of him wasn’t him, at least, it wasn’t what he wanted to be. 

But before he got the chance, Malfoy had turned away and started stalking down the corridor. 

“Let’s just finish the rounds. I’m tired of looking at you.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi friends. 
> 
> Sorry for not updating on Sunday. I am still planning to do chapters every Thursday and Sunday every week (half chapters more or less), but I didn't get to it yesterday. I had a really rough couple of days mental health wise and the idea of writing made me nauseous. 
> 
> Worry not though! I am feeling better more or less now. Expect a chapter on Thursday and Sunday this week where we will conclude what happens on the boys' first patrol together. 
> 
> Lots of love !
> 
> // 
> 
> Oct 1 Note - 
> 
> Hi! Okay here's the latest chapter, sorry again for the delay. Aaaand... sorry in advance for an upcoming delay. My best friend in the whole world is coming to visit me this weekend so it is unlikely I will be doing much writing. So for the next update expect a longer chapter on Thursday. Then I'll go back to doing Thursday and Sunday because I really do prefer that schedule. 
> 
> Thank you to all who left me comments. I read every one of them and they make me so happy. 
> 
> It's raining where I am which is very comforting. I hope everyone is well.

The finished the rest of their shift in silence, uncomfortably walking side by side. Harry felt Malfoy’s words hanging in the air, hovering between them, begging to be discussed. ‘Gryffindor ego’, ‘filthy Slytherin’; Malfoy had put them into such strict categories, assuming there was no chance of them overlapping. Harry frowned at the idea. Ron may be reluctant to make friends with Slytherins, but Harry was much more inclined to agree with Hermione’s point of view, making friends, or at least becoming acquaintances. He was tired of the stereotypes, and getting to know the Slytherin's was the only way to solve that. 

When the clock finally hit 10 – he’d been checking every 10 minutes – he and Malfoy turned to walk back to the common room. Harry wanted to speak, wanted to say anything to ease this strange tension, but didn’t know what to say. Somehow he had preferred it when they’d flung insults at each other to this cold silence. 

When it was clear Malfoy wasn’t going to say anything, much like he had done at the start of their rounds, Harry decided he would start the conversation. 

“So potions looks like it's going to be tough this year.”

He cringed at the sound of his voice, too loud and falsely cheerful. He sounded forced, even to himself. Malfoy must have heard it too, because he didn’t deign to make a response. Harry almost stayed quiet, almost resigned himself to another year of hating Malfoy. 

But he couldn’t. Because things were different now. They were no longer separated by house ties. They were adults. 

And because they were no longer pawns in a war they didn’t start. 

So he said – 

“I know you’re decent at potions. Ron and I are both terrible; Hermione is the only decent one of us. She’d tried to help us, but Ron and I never picked up on the fundamentals – looking at countering acidic ingredients with naturally basic ones and the like. To be fair we gave up trying after 3rd year but – ”

“I don’t care about you and your friends’ academic deficiencies,” Malfoy said coldly. Harry shut his mouth then, and started thinking of how he would have to explain to McGonagall his failure to establish even a cordial relationship with Malfoy. 

Thoughts of his failure plagued Harry as he walked back to their cottages. It occurred to him then that Malfoy was likely the only person in the school that didn’t admire him for his actions in the war. And although he’d spent his entire summer dreading returning to people ogling him, he found he was strangely regretful at the thought that Malfoy had a bad opinion of him. He shook his head and reminded himself that this was nothing new.

When they got to the cottage Harry almost said something again, but Malfoy quickly walked to his room – their room, Harry reminded himself. Harry knew that by the time he got there Malfoy’s hangings would be shut tight like they had been the night before. 

Instead of embarking on another sure to fail attempt to talk to Malfoy, he headed over to the common area to see if Ron and Hermione were still up. 

Sure enough – Hermione was already engrossed in researching some topic she likely anticipated seeing in one of their classes later in the year. She was sitting on one of the carpets in front of the fireplace, four books open around her while she was avidly reading a fifth. Ron was attempting to play chess by himself, no doubt having tried and failed to convince Hermione to join him. He brightened when he saw Harry, and began rearranging the chess pieces to their starting positions. 

Harry was happy to join him. Chess was familiar and comforting. He hadn’t realized until now just how emotionally draining the past two hours had been. Doing something normal was what he needed right now. 

Hermione turned to look at him as he sat down across from Ron. Her wand was tucked behind her ear – a sure sign she was engrossed in whatever topic she was researching. She cocked her head a bit, and Harry knew what she would ask before she did. 

“It went about as bad as could be expected,” he answered before she could ask. After he had ran out of potions Hermione and Ron had been understandably curious. When he told them he’d accepted the position, Ron had been too caught up thinking about all the horrible possibilities that two hours alone with Malfoy could offer that he hadn’t offered much in the way of advice.

Hermione had been slightly more helpful, encouraging him to try and get along with Malfoy. 

“I think it will be good for you two to put aside your differences and start fresh,” she had said. 

Harry frowned, thinking about how that had gone. 

Hermione seemed to sense his reluctance to give details about the evening, so she waited until after he and Ron were well into their chess match to press him for the story. 

“Well?” she asked as Harry’s bishop had just been taken. He sighed. She didn’t have to say anything else, Harry knew she wouldn’t rest until she had all the information. 

So he told her everything, honestly hoping she would have some insight.

“So yeah, it went as we all thought it would, Hermione,” he finished. “Malfoy still hates me; I still hate him. I don’t know why we expected anything different.”

Hermione pursed her lips and gave him a thoughtful look.

“Are you sure you hate Malfoy?” she asked him. Harry shrugged. 

“Not really, I guess. I don’t like him, and he’s still an annoying prick, but I don’t think he’s evil anymore. I wouldn’t have spoken at his trial if I still thought he was a Death Eater.” 

He paused, sacrificing one of his pawns in an attempt to get to Ron’s king. Ron didn’t fall for it. 

“I dunno, I just wasn’t expecting him to be like this. I thought he’d be at least a little grateful that I spoke up for him. It kept him out of Azkaban.” 

Hermione looked thoughtful. 

“Maybe you should ask him about the trial. You may have seen speaking on his behalf as helpful, but he could have interpreted it differently,” she said. 

Ron looked up, seemingly interested in the conversation for the first time. 

“Interpret it differently? Harry kept him out of jail. How could he see that as anything but helpful?” he asked. Harry privately agreed. 

“I just think it’s possible Malfoy may feel in your debt now. And knowing him, he doesn’t like to rely on anyone. Being in debt to your enemy… that would probably make him feel helpless,” she said. 

Harry thought on that for a moment, not noticing as Ron made a series of moves putting him in the position to win. 

Putting himself in Malfoy’s position… he would hate to feel like he owed Malfoy anything. Did hate to feel like that, which is why he saved him in the Room of Requirement. Why he had spoken at his trial. Malfoy had recognized him that night with the Snatchers, Harry knew it. 

But he hadn’t turned them in. He hadn’t revealed the truth. 

Why? 

Harry had spent a long time wondering why things happened the way they did during the war. He had theories for a lot of them, but Malfoy’s reluctance to hand him in… the reason behind it eluded him. He had initially suspected that Malfoy really didn’t know it was them, but had quickly dismissed that thought. Maybe Malfoy was tired of being a pawn in his father’s game and this was his way of defying him. Maybe Malfoy was tired of being a puppet to Voldemort, maybe he was tired of being looked down on by the other Death Eaters. 

Maybe he wanted out, even then. If Harry had offered… would Malfoy had left the Manor with them? Joined their side and helped defeat Voldemort rather than fighting alongside him?

Harry sighed and rubbed his temples. Trying to figure out Malfoy and his motivations had given Harry a headache, so he’d largely given up. He’d figured speaking at his trial was enough to cure the bitter animosity between them. Clearly not. 

Hermione seemed to sense his internal complications. 

“Why don’t you try talking to him again. And not about potions this time,” she said, suppressing a smile. Harry shook his head. 

“It won’t work like that ‘Mione. It was like he was waiting for an opportunity to start being hateful again.” He sighed, exhausted from his arguments with Malfoy. “Maybe things haven’t changed. It felt… normal – arguing with him. Maybe being nice to each other just isn’t an option for us.” 

Hermione made an exasperated sound. 

“Don’t be ridiculous, of course being nice is an option. Malfoy may be upset now, but that doesn’t mean he’ll always be that way. He can't be petty forever.”

Harry personally thought she was seriously underestimating Malfoy’s ability to be petty. Ron seemed to agree. 

“I dunno ‘Mione; Malfoy’s been a dick for as long as we’ve known him. No reason to suspect that will change anytime soon,” Ron said. 

Harry and Ron laughed. Hermione shook her head disapprovingly. 

“I don’t know why I care; you’re the one who has to see him every night. If the two of you want to keep hating each other – by all means continue. I just thing McGonagall wouldn’t have chosen the two of you if she didn’t think there was a chance you could get along.” 

Harry supposed she was right, but he didn’t have anymore time to dedicate to discussing Malfoy because Ron had just declared checkmate.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys. 
> 
> Full disclosure - I recently had a death in the family and am going home for a funeral this evening. I generally write the most on Wednesday evenings and Thursday mornings. I obviously won't be doing that this week. I considered not publishing anything, but decided to just put up what I have. Nothing will be up Sunday, I have funeral stuff all weekend. 
> 
> Sorry again - I'll be back with longer chapters on Thursday Oct 15th. Till then -

The next few days passed quickly. Harry’s anxiety and confusion about Malfoy was overshadowed by his anxiety and confusion about his future. Classes were already picking up, and Hermione’s insistence that he begin researching career choices made him feel like he was drowning. None of the careers he researched seemed to fit anymore – he no longer had any desire to become an Auror, and even career paths that had been mildly interesting to him before held no interest now. When he looked at different careers it was like he could see a vision of himself in the future, locked into a life that he no longer enjoyed, but didn’t have the strength to leave. 

Which, when he thought about it, was the same thing he had seen when he looked at Ginny months ago. 

On Friday morning he was picking over his eggs, moving them from one side of his plate to the other without any real inclination to eat them. Hermione saw this and frowned at him. He sighed and plopped a forkful of the eggs into his mouth, not really tasting them. 

Rather than feeling rejuvenated at his return to Hogwarts as he so often had been in years past, Harry felt like he’d had the life sucked out of him. Classes were difficult, and thinking about his career was stressful, but both of these paled in comparison to his evening rounds with Malfoy. They hadn’t spoken beyond a vague “Let’s start on the 5th floor” or “Think I heard something around the corner” since the first night. The silence put Harry on edge. It was like Malfoy was a storm, calm for now, but Harry could feel something was coming. It was only a matter of time, and then they would be yelling at each other again and throwing hexes. 

He wondered if McGonagall would give them detention. He thought that would be unfair, considering this was all her fault to begin with. 

He was shaken from his thoughts by Ron and Hermione standing to head to class. He put down his fork, surprised to find he had finished his eggs, and followed.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! Thank you all so much for your patience and your kind words last week. This chapter is a bit longer than usual so I hope you enjoy! Stay tuned for the next chapter on Sunday :)
> 
> Also - I'm including Lavender in this fic. I'm honestly not sure if she dies in canon, but I like her so in this AU she didn't die in the battle okay byeeee !

Herbology was easy; Professor Sprout seemed to sense the stress the 8th years were under. They all had their first career prospect meeting this evening and if the nervous whispers that surrounded him at breakfast and overall subdued mood in class were anything to go off of, Harry would guess the other 8th years were as nervous as he was. 

Hermione and Malfoy were the only ones that seemed unfazed. Even Zabini wasn’t matching his usual impeccable composure. Hermione was excited, of course, talking with anyone who would listen to her about the 10 basic potions every healer needs to know how to brew. 

And Malfoy well… Malfoy was as sullen as ever. Harry watched him closely in potions from across the room, trying to discern any shift in Malfoy’s mood that would indicate he was worried about his meeting. Harry assumed he had to be. With his father and past Death Eater ties he didn’t exactly have a glowing reputation. As much as Harry disliked the savior perception that followed him everywhere he went, it did have benefits. Such as never having to worry about no one wanting to hire him. 

He found himself wondering what it would be like to not be sure of a job, to feel like he needed to compete. He didn’t know what field he wanted to go into, but based on the way people were treating him, he felt reasonably certain he wouldn’t have to worry about not being sought after by employers. Malfoy didn’t have that luxury. 

“Caterpillars, Harry, not leeches!” Hermione said, exasperated. 

Harry looked at what he was doing, surprised to see a jar of dead leeches in his hand. He sat it back down and grabbed the correct jar. 

“Sorry, ‘Mione,” he said. 

She shook her head at him, but he could tell she wasn’t mad. 

“Are you all right?” she asked. Harry knew she wasn’t just talking about the leeches. He shrugged. 

“M’alright. Long week.”

“Ah, but it’s almost the weekend!” Ron exclaimed, jumping into the conversation. He seemed to not notice the serious tone Hermione had used. She frowned at him, no doubt irritated at having an opportunity to recommend Harry see a mind healer interrupted. Ron seemed not to notice, too excited at the prospect of elf made wine at the Hog’s Head. Harry was grateful for the change of subject. 

Ron was now prattling on about plans for the evening, who all they had invited and how much they would drink while there. 

“– asked Terry and Anthony along as well, even though I always thought Terry was a bit of a git, but we worked on that Charms essay together last night and he seems alright. All the Gryffindor gang, obviously, yes, yes even Lavender – she’s dropped all the “Won-Won” business since Hermione spoke with her Tuesday and she seems alright with it now, really almost everyone, I’ve spoken to almost all the 8th years about it.” 

Almost being the key word, Harry noticed. Based on the look on her face, Hermione had noticed too, and Harry was sure she disapproved. Harry had never expected Ron to invite the Slytherins (former Slytherins, he reminded himself), but it would be strange when the entire 8th year living area was empty except for Malfoy and Zabini. He found himself wondering how Malfoy would feel at being left behind. Based on how he’d been acting around Harry on their rounds together, Harry guessed he would be relieved to have some privacy. 

“ – and then, if we can make it, we’ll swipe some sandwiches from the kitchens when we get back!” Ron said enthusiastically, finished describing his plans for the evening which were apparently much more detailed than the relaxed small group Harry had anticipated for the evening. In the time Ron had spend talking about their night out, Hermione had finished their potion which matched the pale yellow described in the textbook, but without the reflective property the book said the most advanced potion of this type displayed. Harry found himself thinking about Snape’s old Potions book, lost in the fire that destroyed the Room of Requirement. 

Harry bottled the potion, the least he could do since he hadn’t been very involved with the brewing and dropped it on Slughorn’s desk. The walked to the Great Hall, and Harry thought of little else but their career meeting later. After lunch, there was only Defense separating him from the discussion where he would have to confess to McGonagall that he didn’t want to be an Auror anymore, and worse, he had no idea of any other careers that interested him. 

The mood at the 8th year table was noticeably subdued, further proof everyone was brooding about their career appointments. Harry picked at a ham and cheese sandwich. The only person who seemed to eat less than him was Hermione who was talking so much she didn’t have any time to waste with eating. Even Malfoy who seemed to get thinner every day, was managing to work his way through a bowl of French onion. 

The only thing keeping his spirits up was knowing it would be two days before he had to patrol with Malfoy again. He was looking forward to having his evenings to himself and not have to worry about an angry Malfoy several feet away from him constantly. Personally, he would have preferred to have a quiet evening in, playing chess and reading his latest Quidditch book, but he couldn’t bring himself to dampen Ron’s spirits. He supposed a night out could be fun; it had been awhile since he’d been able to let loose. 

Defense went quicker than Harry would have liked. The class was easy, one of the only classes Harry felt confident he would excel at this year. Their new teacher, Professor Gillenwater, was an American exchange professor from Ilvermorny in the States. Harry initially disliked him for the sole reason that he hadn’t experienced life under Voldemort’s rule, but he quickly overcame his prejudice. Almost everyone in Hogwarts, students and faculty, carried with them scars from the battle and a lingering fear that it could happen again. Professor Gillenwater recognized the impact the battle had, but he didn’t witness it firsthand and didn’t let it impact him. Rather than dwelling on the past, he taught his students with an energetic vigor, determined that if another battle was to happen his students would be prepared to face the enemy head on. 

He often wore sweaters which reminded Harry of Lupin, and when he spoke his eyes lit up in a way that made Harry certain he really loved what he was doing. He’d quickly become one of Harry’s favorite professors. 

His classes were easy though – almost all the material they would be covering this term was something Harry, Ron and Hermione had first hand experience with. Despite this, Professor Gillenwater’s energetic manner of teaching made it seem interesting and new. 

They were working on reviewing the Jelly Legs jinx today, one many of them had mastered in the 6th year, but it was Friday and Professor Gillenwater had wanted to give them a relaxing class. Harry was working in a group of 3 with Ron and Hermione; he and Ron teamed up trying to catch Hermione off her guard. She held her own against the two of them, effectively blocking every jinx they threw at her, until Ron grew frustrated and hit her with a Disarming spell. Caught off guard and wandless, Harry was able to hit her with the jinx. 

He and Ron laughed as Professor Gillenwater came over to lift the jinx. Hermione looked at them reproachfully. 

“That wasn’t fair; I wasn’t expecting to be disarmed,” she said. Ron shrugged. 

“What kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn’t make sure you were prepared for anything?” 

She laughed. 

Class ended soon after that – no homework for the weekend except to practice any spells they had struggled with that week – and there was nothing for Harry to do but brace himself for the worst. He could almost see McGonagall’s disapproving look when he told her he had no career aspirations. 

The 8th years all walked to McGonagall’s office together. She was waiting outside for them, and to his surprise, Professor Gillenwater and Sprout were with her. 

“I hope your first week has gone well,” she said. Harry glanced at Malfoy and saw him glaring at nothing in particular. He sighed. 

“I want to remind you all that starting next week you will be required to attend your inter-house discussion groups. I know you are all living with people from houses different than the one you were sorted in, but the staff and I believe you can all still benefit from these extra discussion hours. The event will be from 7 – 9 on Tuesday, and I stress that attendance is mandatory.” She took a moment to glare at Ron who already looked unhappy with the prospect. She continued.

“Mr. Potter and Mr. Malfoy, you will both be exempt from your patrol duties every other Tuesday so you can attend.” 

Harry inwardly gave a sigh of relief – anything to lessen his time one on one with Malfoy was good by him. Though, he thought with distress, if McGonagall really wanted them to become friends, he figured it likely they would be put in the same group anyway.

“If there are no questions, we will begin with your consultations. Since this is the first day, meetings will be short. We are just trying to get a sense of where you are at with your career choices. Once your meeting is over you are free to go. Professors Gillenwater, Sprout, and myself will be conducting the meetings. You can find the schedule of meetings here – “ she flicked her want and a piece of parchment appeared on the wall. 

“Students speaking with myself can stay here, I will be conducting meetings in my office. Students with Professors Gillenwater and Sprout, please follow them.” 

Harry was surprised to see himself paired not with McGonagall, but Gillenwater. He was happy to see Ron was with him as well, so the two of them followed Gillenwater back to his office along with Parvati, Zabini, Cho, and Terry Boot. Harry hadn’t had a chance to ask Hermione how things were going with her new roommates. He was wondering what kind of a roommate Cho would make as Gillenwater led them into his classroom. 

“Everyone feel free to sit out here while you wait; I’ll try and get through these as quickly as possible. After today you can come at your appointment time, there will be no need to wait outside. Mr. Boot, if you could follow me.”

The meetings went by quickly, 10-15 minutes each. Harry felt more and more anxious as the minutes clicked by, until he and Ron were the last two in the room. 

“Mr. Potter,” Gillenwater said. Harry stood up anxiously. Ron gave him a thumbs up that did little to relax Harry, who followed Gillenwater into his office with some trepidation.

He was surprised to find the office was almost as comfortable as it had been in Lupin’s day. There were plants hanging from the ceiling and spare bits of parchment scattered over a desk filled with interesting looking books. 

“Examining my book collection?” Gillenwater asked. “I would expect nothing less from the best Defense student in the year.”

Harry looked up at him, surprised. Gillenwater laughed. 

“You have a proclivity for the subject I have rarely seen, and excellent instincts. I admit I’m hoping to hear you have some interest in going into a career in Defense,” he said. 

Harry shrugged and sat down in the chair across from Gillenwater. 

“I don’t really know what I want to do, “he said honestly. 

“But you like Defense Against the Dark Arts,” Gillenwater prompted. Harry nodded. 

“It’s my favorite subject, yeah.”

“There are a lot of careers in the field – Auror is obviously the most popular, especially right now. Everyone seems to want to help prevent another Voldemort.”

Hearing a professor use Voldemort’s name was odd and strangely comforting. Even with him gone, many still worried speaking his name could bring him back. 

“I used to want to be an Auror,” Harry said, “But not really anymore.”

Gillenwater nodded. “Tired of the fighting?”

Harry was surprised at how perceptive he was. He nodded. They sat in thoughtful silence for a moment before Gillenwater said, 

“There are other careers in Defense you know – ones that require less hand to hand combat. Cursebreakers are popular, and the Ministry has Aurors on staff who don’t see combat – one’s who investigate and gather intel.” 

Harry wasn’t certain either of those appealed to him. He didn’t think he was smart enough to be a detective. Unsure of what to say, he shrugged again. 

“Is there anything else you like to do – school or otherwise?” he asked. 

“Quidditch,” Harry said instantly. “I really like flying.”

“Interesting,” he said with a faraway look in his eyes. Harry got the feeling he was remembering something. He snapped out of it and looked at Harry with an intensity he was used to from McGonagall. He was surprised Gillenwater could use it so effectively. 

“Well, Mr. Potter, you are an interesting case. I think we’ll end the meeting here, I’ll need some time to think before I can be of more help to you. In the meantime, before our meeting next week I’d like you to think more on course material you enjoy, your favorite classes, and anything you like to do outside of classes.”

Harry stood, surprised at the abrupt end to their meeting. It couldn't have lasted more than 5 minutes. Gillenwater reached out to shake his hand and Harry took it, feeling no more prepared for his future than when he’d entered the office. He left, and Ron followed Gillenwater in. 

“See you back in the Common Room, mate,” Ron said. His eyes were bright, and Harry knew he was thinking of the night ahead.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Thanks for all the feedback on my last chapter; it was really uplifting. This chapter is short - but some very interesting stuff happens! Hope everyone enjoys. 
> 
> See you guys on Thursday where we'll see what happens when the 8th years go out!
> 
> As always - comments are very appreciated. Hope everyone is doing well!

Dusk was ending, and nightfall was upon the castle. The castle lamps were lit, and they were the only source of light from the grounds where the woman stood. 

She waited directly outside the apparition lines. She was heavily cloaked despite the warm weather. She did not seem at ease. She jumped at small noises and was clearly attempting to not be noticed. There was a noise, louder than the others. She tensed, reaching for a wand that wasn’t there, and then relaxed when Draco Malfoy stepped into the clearing. She stepped towards him, and he took a small step back, his face unreadable. She halted, and kept her distance after that. 

“Thank you for meeting me,” she said. Her voice was slightly hoarse; she was clearly exhausted. Draco didn’t respond, merely nodded. There was silence for a moment, both lost in thought, but about very different things. A deep breath, and the woman continued. 

“I’m sure from the contents of my letter you’ve guessed why I am here. I couldn’t reveal too much from fear of interception, but my intent was clear enough.”

She paused again, clearly hoping Draco would join in the conversation and express his opinion. He did neither, and after a brief silence, the woman continued again. 

“You could be of great service to us, Draco,” she said, almost pleadingly. Here, Draco finally interjected. 

“What if I don’t want to be?”

“Don’t want to be? Draco this is an opportunity to help your family, your friends,” she said. Draco stiffened. 

“They aren’t my friends,” he said tightly. 

The woman lowered her hood, her normally pristine blonde hair dirty and unkempt. 

“And who is?” Narcissa asked challengingly. “The students in the castle? I’m sure they’ve forgotten the war already and you’re all fantastic friends. Tell me, where are they tonight that you were able to sneak away so easily?” 

Draco said nothing, but his eyes darted quickly to Hogsmeade and back where Potter and his friends were no doubt drinking themselves into a stupor. The look was not lost on Narcissa. Her tone softened. 

“See Draco? People like that, they don’t care about people like us. They’ll look down on us our entire lives which is why we need to do something about it. It isn’t like last time. This is a fight for equality.”

“Equality,” Draco said. 

“Yes,” said Narcissa, encouraged. “And this part you have to play will be simple, an extension of what you will already be doing. I know you can do this, my son.”

Draco hesitated for a moment before blurting, “I don’t want anyone else to get hurt. Narcissa looked at her son for a moment in confusion. It disappeared quickly, and she nodded. 

“Of course. As I said, it isn’t like last time.”

Slowly, Draco nodded. 

“You’ll help us?” Narcissa asked. Draco glanced at Hogsmeade again before replying, 

“Tell me what I need to do.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all - sorry but there will be no chapter today. This week was very busy and very emotionally draining for me. As a result, I didn't have a chance to finish this week's chapter. I promise it will be up Sunday!
> 
> On a more personal note - I don't usually get this far with writing projects. I often start and never finish things so the fact that I'm still writing this is surprising. I like writing this fic and everyone's support and comments make me want to continue. I am sorry if my update schedule is a bit chaotic at times - I'm not used to writing on a schedule like this. 
> 
> Anyways! See you guys Sunday :)

“I don’t really think it matters,” Harry said, already mentally exhausted even though the night hadn’t started yet. 

“Okay but which one makes me look more badass? Like which one would impress all the local ladies?” Terry asked, wiggling his eyebrows. 

Harry and Ron were both sitting on the floor, legs stretched out in front of them in Harry’s room as Terry pulled out a variety of shirts from his trunk.

“I’m not sure there’s many ‘local ladies’ mate,” Ron said. Terry raised his eyebrows. 

“Come on Weasley, we all know Rosmerta’s a knockout. Tonight may be the night it finally happens with her.” His eyes went a bit dazed at the thought. Ron cleared his throat, bringing Terry back from whatever daydreams he’d been having. Harry didn’t fail to note that Ron was slightly red too – no doubt remembering his own childhood crush on her. 

“At any rate,” Harry said, “We’re not likely to see her unless we go to the Three Broomsticks.” 

He was secretly hoping a change of plans would result in just that. The Three Broomsticks was warm and cheery, something he felt he needed. But Ron remained persistent. 

“No way, mate. Too many kids go in there. We’re going to a real bar.”

Harry didn’t bother to point out there would be no kids at the Three Broomsticks tonight since no other students were allowed to visit. He merely nodded and went back to listening to Terry compare his shirts – he’d narrowed it down to 2 choices. 

“I like the Ravenclaw sweater – but it makes me look like a student,” he lamented. “Rosmerta won’t be interested in a student.”

“You are a student,” Harry pointed out. Terry waved a hand at him as if to say the fact was unimportant. Ron rolled his eyes. 

After much deliberation, Terry selected a Weird Sisters t-shirt (“It makes me look masculine and shows I’m up with which bands are trendy”). Ron wore a Cannon’s jersey Hermione had bought him for his birthday. Harry just wore the same thing he’d had under his robes all day – faded jeans and an old t-shirt that had once belonged to Dudley. Ron didn’t approve. 

“It’s Friday,” he whined. “Our first Friday on the town; can’t you wear something a bit more… fun?”

Harry shrugged. He knew Ron was half-kidding, but the idea of putting effort into how he looked exhausted him. This outfit was comfortable; it felt familiar. Ron seemed to sense he wasn’t changing his mind and shifted the subject to safer topics. 

By the time they were all ready to go, the sun had begun to set. Harry found himself glancing at the door. It was only when Ron asked if he was waiting for someone that he realized he was thinking about Malfoy. He found himself thinking about McGonagall’s desire for unity, starting with the two of them. 

Somehow he didn’t think excluding Malfoy from an all 8th years excursion was what she had in mind. 

He tried to shrug off the thought – Zabini wasn’t invited either, he reminded himself – but now that he thought about it that seemed worse. He didn’t have time to think about it, however, because Neville just got back from his extra lesson with Sprout in the greenhouse. Terry was catching him up on the moral crisis he went through when choosing a shirt and Ron was listing off drinks they should try that night. Neville nodded along, and Harry couldn’t tell if he was genuinely interested or if he was just better at faking it than Harry was. 

Once Neville had cleaned all the fertilizer off him and put on a fresh pair of pants, they headed to the Common Room where they were meeting everyone else. Still no sign of Malfoy. He hadn’t been back to the room in a few hours, and once they entered the Common Room his bright blonde hair was noticeably absent. Harry frowned. 

“What’s wrong, mate?” Ron asked, clearly at a loss for how anyone could be frowning when a night of drinking awaited them. Harry shrugged, not wanting to let Ron know he was thinking about Malfoy again. Luckily, at that moment Ron spotted Hermione and the conversation was abandoned. 

After a few side conversations, updates about outfits and discussions of evening plans, the Hogwarts 8th years minus Malfoy and Zabini set out. Harry had kept an eye on the door while they were in the Common Room, half hoping Malfoy would walk in. He wasn’t sure what he would do if that happened though. Inviting and not inviting Malfoy seemed like equally bad ideas, both of which could end up with him getting cursed. 

It was probably lucky he didn’t come in, Harry thought. It would spare him the awkward looks he would inevitably get from everyone around him if he asked Malfoy to join. Not that he wanted to spend any more time with Malfoy than he already was – but he didn’t think he’d like being excluded. Maybe this was what Malfoy had meant when he’d talked about things being the same as before. For some reason, the thought made him sad. 

Would Malfoy stay up wondering where everyone was? Or would he not care? Harry pushed the thoughts of Malfoy away and tried to focus on the conversations around him. Everyone was filing out now. He found Ron and Hermione and tried to interest himself in their conversation about how Hermione was handling living with her roommates – Lavender, Cho, and Hannah Abbott. 

“Lavender’s alright, but of course I’ve practice living with her. Cho is nice enough, although she and Hannah do stay up half the night talking. I don’t always really mind, but when I need to study I have to stay in the Common Room, otherwise they’ll distract me,” she was saying. Ron interjected. 

“You? Distracted? I never thought I’d see the day.” 

She gave him a playful shove.

“Me on the other hand, I’m making sure I keep my roommates in line. No staying up until the middle of the night talking for us – no we are on the straight and narrow. Homework every night and, if we finish early, Zabini will read us an excerpt from one of his mum’s rare Italian poetry books. Very respectable, our room,” he said with mock seriousness. 

Harry laughed at the mental image of Zabini sitting on his bed reading poetry aloud, the other boys crammed on the carpet in front of him. 

“How is living with Zabini?” he asked. Ron shrugged. 

“Not as bad as I thought it would be, honestly. He keeps to himself, but he’s not as much of a prick as I thought he’d be. No, the honor of ‘Biggest 8th Year Prick’ definitely goes to Malfoy,” Ron said. 

He laughed then, and Harry forced one as well. Ron seemed satisfied by his response, and he and Hermione began talking about other things. Harry’s mind had drifted away again. He found himself wondering if Zabini talked with Ron more, would he have asked him to come tonight? Would Malfoy’ve been left alone, the only 8th year no one wanted to be around? 

He brings it on himself, Harry reminded himself, thinking of the joyless evenings he’d spent patrolling with Malfoy so far in silence. 

He felt better then. He remembered the look Malfoy gave him every time they saw each other. He wouldn’t have wanted to come out with them anyway. 

He walked in silence, letting Ron and Hermione’s idle chatter fill the space around him until he forgot about Draco Malfoy. 

That is, until they passed him. 

At first, Harry wasn’t sure it was even him. But the gray eyes were unmistakable. Malfoy was leaning against a tree suspiciously close to the Forbidden Forest, arms crossed. He made no move to hide when he saw Harry had noticed him. Harry stopped and stared at him, Ron and Hermione not noticing. The rest of the group had pulled ahead. 

“What are you doing out here?” Harry asked bluntly. Ron and Hermione heard him and stopped, seeing Malfoy for the first time. He rolled his eyes.

“The last time I checked I don’t answer to you, Potter,” he said, a gleam of malice in his eyes. Harry stiffened. 

“Come on mate, he’s not worth the time,” Ron said. Harry nodded and turned away. 

When he looked back, Malfoy was nowhere to be seen.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a longer chapter this week! Figured I owed you guys after you only got one last week. 
> 
> The story is really starting up now! Big developments in this chapter, please let me know your thoughts. And don't worry, this is still very much a drarry fic, but I did say it was a slow burn, and there are some twists along the way ;)
> 
> I'm very excited for Sunday's chapter; I think you all are going to really like it. In the mean time, stay safe out there!

By the time they had gotten 2 rounds of drinks at the Hog’s Head, Harry had all but forgotten how Malfoy had been acting earlier. He’d considered voicing his concerns about why Malfoy was skulking around the grounds at night to Ron and Hermione, but he didn’t want to deal with the look he knew they would give each other, the one that so clearly said ‘he’s obsessing again’. 

So, in what felt like routine for him now, he tried to forget about Malfoy. 

When they first got there, they knocked back a round of firewhisky which made Harry cough, but then they switched to a sour wheat beer which didn’t taste great, but didn’t make his throat burn like the whisky had. By round 3 he was noticing how pretty Hannah Abbott was looking in a slightly faded red long-sleeved shirt, and by round 4 he found he was trying to catch her eye. She had very cute dimples; how had he never noticed? 

He went to get round 5, and to his surprise, Hannah joined him. Maybe she’d been more tuned into his attempts to catch her eye than he’d realized. 

Although the bar was far from busy, Aberforth still took his time getting around to take their order which Harry decided he was grateful for. Hannah smiled at him, flashing her dimples. Harry found himself wondering how her lips would feel on his. He shook his head to clear his thoughts and try to think of something to talk to her about. He racked his brains, trying to remember something, anything about her. A favorite subject, any family she had. In the end, all he could remember was that she’d been a Hufflepuff. 

“So, how is it having new roommates?” he asked. A lame enough topic, but Hannah seemed enthused to speak on it. 

“I was worried at first, of course – such a big change! But it’s really excellent now. My marks are going to be higher than ever this year with Cho and Hermione around; they’re constantly studying and it’s only the first week! And I always thought Lavender was a bit of a… well a bit of a ditz but she’s actually really sweet. I actually kind of like all living together, all of us 8th years. I’m getting to know, like really getting to know, not just surface level getting to know, so many people I wouldn’t have before!”

She spoke in an excited voice, speaking a bit quicker than Harry had heard her speak before when answering questions in class or doing homework in the library. Her cheekbones had taken on a red hue. She looked so warm that Harry found he wanted to be closer to her. When another patron came up beside him he seized the opportunity to shift closer to Hannah. She did not object. Their arms were almost touching now. 

“What about you? How’s living with Malfoy?”

All his previous thoughts of Malfoy, so easily forgotten after four rounds of drinks, came rushing back to him. He had a sudden vision of Malfoy sitting alone in his room, their room. Was he brooding? Wondering where everyone had went? Was he upset? Did he appreciate the time away from everyone? 

Hannah was looking at him, expecting a response. He cleared his throat and flashed her a grin.

“It’s all right! I was worried when I wasn’t with Ron at first, but Nev has always been a great roommate and Terry’s a cool guy,” he said.

Hannah raised her eyebrows, clearly not picking up on the fact he wanted to avoid mentioning his third roommate. 

“And Malfoy?” 

It was like she was trying to ruin the moment. Harry had been trying to angle closer and put his arm around her without it feeling too forced. Her questions about Malfoy put him on his guard. He shrugged. 

“He mostly keeps to himself.”

The tone he used must have said enough, because Hannah didn’t press him on Malfoy anymore. The subject shifted to classes and studying – safe topics. He didn’t know why, but Malfoy didn’t feel like a safe topic. 

Aberforth finally deigned to take their order – another round of firewhisky, Ron said the beer wasn’t strong enough, but his slurred speech said otherwise – and they headed back to the table, drinks in tow. This time, Hannah slid next to him in the round booth they occupied, a seat previously held by Neville who had conveniently taken a trip to the bathroom. Harry made a mental note to thank him later. He took a sip of his firewhisky – he didn’t think he could drink it in one gulp this time – before turning to Hannah. 

“So, which class do you reckon will be hardest this year?” 

He cringed at the sound of his own voice. It sounded too loud in his ears. He put his firewhisky glass down, vowing that it would be his last. The room wasn’t spinning, but everything did look a little blurred around the edges. Except for Hannah. She was clear and crisp in contrast to her blurry surroundings. 

“Worried about Potions, obviously,” she said. Harry made a note of that, something to bring up with her tomorrow. Because he did want to talk with her tomorrow. He felt at least mildly certain his sudden attraction to her wasn’t fully due to the alcohol. 

“Defense too,” she continued. “Didn’t really get to fight much in the Battle, I was healing. Figured I’d be more help there.”

“Is that what you want to do then?” Harry asked. It made sense why she’d been studying with Hermione. 

Hannah nodded eagerly. 

“Yeah, healing at the Battle is what really decided it. I’d had an interest in it before, but at the Battle… I realized this was my way to help people. I’m not a very strong offensive fighter, but I realized with healing I could do my part, you know?”

She took a delicate sip of her drink, and it suddenly occurred to Harry that she was much less intoxicated than he was. He found he didn’t really care, she had never looked more attractive to him than now when she was talking about her passion for helping people. And she wasn’t starstruck by him like so many others. He figured it had something to do with the fact they had gone to school together since they were 11, but it was still refreshing. 

They chatted animatedly for the rest of the evening, Harry feeling more relaxed than he had since arriving. Hannah was easy to talk to, much easier than he had figured. She loved Quidditch and had season passes to the Holyhead Harpies games. She told him she left school frequently on weekends to see them play. She had a knack for charms, and hadn’t ever struggled for more than a few days to master one. And she, like Neville, loved Herbology. She told him in the fourth year she had asked the house elves to let her water the plants in the Hufflepuff Common Room because she loved being responsible for the plants’ growth. 

Harry found he was rather enamored with her. 

The night ended abruptly, Ron vomiting into his lap and Hermione cleaning it with a swish of her wand, but still insisting they should all head back. Harry was much more drunk than he'd anticipated. He had ended up with another beer after he finished his firewhisky, and then a glass of wine Hannah had decided to get for them to split. They’d made jokes about the different notes it carried, pretending to be posh, upscale people, giggling the whole time.

On the walk back, Hannah’s arm encircled him, helping him walk. Harry was stumbling a bit, but she didn’t seem to mind. When they got to Harry’s cottage he turned to her and seriously considered asking her to come in. What would happen then, he wasn’t sure, but he knew he wanted to spend more time with her. 

Instead, she kissed him softly, one hand on his waist, one on the back of his head. Harry was a bit surprised, but he supposed he shouldn’t have been. They had been flirting the whole night – this was the natural next step. He hesitated only a moment before kissing her back, enthusiastically turning her around and pushing her, ever so gently, against the cottage wall. 

Hannah gave a small gasp, and then pushed her body against his, closing whatever gap had been between them. His tongue was in her mouth and he fancied he could still taste the wine they’d been drinking a moment earlier. He ran his hands through her hair, and was about to suggest they go inside, when a small cough interrupted them. 

Harry paused, hands still in Hannah’s hair, and turned to see Hermione with her eyebrows raised. They broke apart, and Harry grinned at his friend sheepishly. Hannah went to Hermione’s side and smiled at Harry. 

“See you tomorrow, yeah?” She asked, her eyes bright. 

Harry smiled at her and nodded. He watched her walk away, and when she was out of sight, he turned for his own room. 

Nev and Terry’s hangings were closed, they’d both left about an hour before Harry had, but he was surprised to see Malfoy’s hangings open. He scanned the room, but Malfoy was no where to be found. He frowned a bit, wondering if he was still on the grounds. 

He put on his pajamas, deciding to skip brushing his teeth. He wanted to keep the taste of Hannah in his mouth.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Small boi chapter! Apologies - meant to make it longer but quickly realized my idea wouldn't fit into a single chapter. So here's a lil preview of the boys' new dynamic!

After a long night, Harry anticipated he would sleep until noon or even later. 

He was mistaken. 

He woke before the sun was up with a dry mouth, the room spinning around him. He stumbled out of bed, not fully in control of his movements yet, to the bathroom where he stuck his head under the tap, gulping the ice cold water gratefully. After standing there for a few minutes, he put his fingers on his temple and tried to get the spinning to stop. No luck. He groaned, making a mental note to ask Hermione if there were any potions to cure a hangover. Witches and wizards had been inventing potions for thousands of years, surely there was something for this. 

After taking one more gulp of tap water, he made his way back to his room and collapsed on his bed. He then noticed he was still in his clothes from last night. Groaning, he peeled off his jeans and fell back asleep in only his shirt. 

He slept better this time; the water helped. He still didn’t sleep as long as anticipated though, only making it until sunrise before he woke again. Cursing himself for forgetting to close his bed hangings, Harry made his way to the bathroom again for another gulp of tap water. When he got in the bathroom, however, he found himself quickly wishing he’d stayed in his bed or, at the very least, put his pants back on. 

Malfoy was standing at the sink without his shirt on, clearly getting ready to shower. Harry averted his eyes, preparing to leave the bathroom and forget the encounter ever happened, when Malfoy scoffed at him. 

“What, never seen a bloke shirtless before?” he asked in a mocking tone. Harry stopped, surprised to hear Malfoy was talking to him again. He’d assumed he was still getting the silent treatment, and the mocking was a welcome change. 

He was still tempted to turn away, but the Gryffindor in him refused to back down from a challenge. He forced himself to look at Malfoy who still hadn’t deigned to put a shirt on. 

“So you’re talking to me again?” Harry asked, matching Malfoy's mocking tone, but he was genuinely curious. Malfoy raised an eyebrow – that was clearly not the response he’d been expecting. 

“I can’t be talking to you again Potter seeing as I never started talking to you in the first place.”

“Really? I seem to recall some choice insults thrown my way the first night we did patrols together.”

“Insults don’t count as talking to someone.”

“Most people would disagree with you.”

“Well thank God I’m not ‘most people’.” 

Harry paused, considering asking Malfoy what he’d been doing on the grounds last night, but not wanting to ruin this new rapport which was immensely better than the sullen silences that had been between them for the past week. Instead, he said – 

“Then who are you exactly?” 

Malfoy flushed, his prominent cheekbones going pink. 

“I haven’t any idea what you’re going on about. Are you sure the aggressive binge drinking last night hasn’t addled your cognitive functions? What little there is.”

Harry laughed, leaving Malfoy again looking shocked. He decided he liked surprising Malfoy – the look he got on his face was preferable to the sneer he usually wore or, more common these days, the emotionless mask. 

“Why do you always talk like that?” he asked. 

“Like what?” 

“Like you’re some posh bastard who swallowed an encyclopedia.” 

Malfoy looked angry at that comment, and when he replied his voice was heated, so unlike his standard cold tone. 

“It’s called having manners, Potter. I was raised in a household that taught their children how to behave. It appears that’s a lesson you missed out on with the Muggles.” 

That hit a nerve. Harry found he was quite angry. 

“Better to be raised with no manners than to be raised to be evil.” 

He regretted the words as soon as he said them. The look on Malfoy’s face was like he’d been slapped, and where once that would have exhilarated Harry, he now just felt a strange remorse. He found he wanted Malfoy to be better. He didn’t want the petty childhood rivalry they’d once had where insults and hexes were commonplace. 

He wanted to believe he was a different person now. And if he was different, couldn’t Malfoy be to? 

“Wait, I – ” he started, but it was too late. After giving him a withering look, Malfoy slung his shirt over his shoulder and stormed out of the room. 

Harry sighed. He considered going after Malfoy but decided it would do more harm than good. Wanting something to distract himself, he found his toothbrush. He brushed his teeth forcefully, as if trying to rid himself of the words he’d just spoken.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello all – sorry for not posting! my laptop charger broke and i’ve been unable to write because of it. i promise when i upload again it will be a very long chapter to make up for the wait!

Super sorry for this delay! Not sure when I will be able to upload again but hopefully soon.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hooray, new content! My laptop charger is still not working, but my lovely roomie lent me her laptop so I could update you all. 
> 
> Hoping to have the next chapter up Thursday like usual (it will be a banter heavy chapter so get excited) but no promises because I still don't have a working laptop. Sigh. 
> 
> Sorry again for the long wait!

After his disastrous encounter with Malfoy, Harry found he didn’t have the energy for breakfast. Instead, he dragged himself back to his bed for what he fervently hoped would be the last time that morning and collapsed back into a fitful sleep. He hovered on the edge of sleep and waking, never really falling into a restful slumber. By the time half past noon rolled around, he finally accepted in his half dream state that he wasn’t destined to get any more real rest. With a sigh, he heaved himself out of his four poster bed, threw on the most comfortable clothes he had, and started for the Great Hall, hoping lunch would still be out. 

He was lucky, lunch was still there even if his friends weren’t. Knowing Hermione she was likely camped out in the library, and knowing Ron, he was likely there distracting her. He grimaced, thinking about the Hannah-based explanation he would have to give Hermione. Even if there wasn’t much to tell. 

Neville was the only one sitting at the table. Harry hesitated to go sit beside him, thinking of the late night confessions in the Gryffindor boy’s room during their 6th year, and remembering Neville’s had revolved largely around a certain Hufflepuff girl whose tongue Harry had just had in his mouth the night before. 

In the end Harry didn’t have to decide. Neville spotted him and waved him over. Feeling a bit relieved, Harry took a seat across from him, thinking he couldn’t be too angry. 

Neville’s plate was piled with ham and cheese sandwiches, meat pies, and three oranges. Harry was less ambitious when filling his own, opting for half a ham sandwich and a fistful of crackers. This did not escape Neville who frowned at him. Under his scrutinizing gaze, Harry took another half sandwich. Neville’s unwavering gaze relented. 

“So?” Neville prompted. He didn’t need to elaborate. Harry chewed his ham sandwich before answering. 

“Nothing major happened,” Harry said. Neville wiggled his eyebrows. 

“But you wanted something major to happen, yeah?” 

Harry laughed. 

“Considering your feelings on Hannah two years ago, you’re remarkably calm about all this.” 

Neville waved a hand breezily. 

“Course you wouldn’t know, you weren’t here last year. Me and Han tried dating the summer after 6th year but it didn’t really work out. The war probably had something to do with it, real mood killer that is, but war or not we’re better as friends. Besides, I spend too much time with Sprout to have time for anything serious.”

“And who said you were looking for anything serious?” Harry asked, matching Neville’s joking demeanor. He laughed. 

“So you like her, yeah?” Neville asked. Harry shrugged. 

“Think so. Never really thought much about her like that until last night but, yeah, I think so.”

Neville wolf whistled, and Harry jabbed an elbow into his ribs. The two started laughing again, apparently too loud because they both received a sharp look from Professor McGonagall. They quieted down after that, focusing on their food until Neville asked - 

“You’re coming out again with us tonight, right?” 

Harry looked at him in shock. 

“You’re going out again?”

Neville laughed at his incredulous tone. 

“We all are, mate! Better not tell Ron you’re staying in, he’ll be devastated. He’s already talking about starting at the Three Broomsticks tonight and how the first round of mead is on him.”

Harry groaned, not looking forward to telling Ron he was staying in. 

“My head feels like it’s been hit with a hammer, and I’m dehydrated as hell. Think I’ll sit this one out.”

Neville shrugged. 

“Suit yourself. But be careful, Hannah’s a hot commodity around the 8th year Common Room. I saw ol’ Malfoy eyeing her yesterday. If you’re not careful he could swoop in before you can seal the deal.”

The shock must have been clear on Harry’s face, because Neville laughed. 

“Relax, I’m kidding. I don’t think Malfoy’s into her. Come to think of it, I don’t really think he’s into anyone.” 

“Parkinson,” Harry said. Neville looked at him curiously. Harry cleared his throat, suddenly uncomfortable. 

“Parkinson,” he explained, not sure why he was bothering to key Neville into the intricacies of Malfoy’s romantic life, something he himself knew very little about. “I think Malfoy was always into Parkinson.” 

Neville still looked confused so Harry added, “They went to the Yule Ball together.” 

Neville shrugged, clearly uninterested in the topic. 

“Well anyway, he isn’t in to Hannah so you’re in the clear.” 

Neville clapped him on the back. Harry smiled, and turned back to his half sandwich. 

***  
Nev was right; Ron was very emotional when Harry told him he wasn’t going out. He started out angry, demanding that Harry go with them and calling him a bad friend for letting him drink alone. Harry pointed out that Ron would, in fact, not be drinking alone, but with a large group of people, which did little to improve his mood. 

Then he turned pouty, sulking in the corner of the library he and Hermione were inhabiting for the afternoon, getting even less work done than Harry guessed he had been before he’d arrived. Hermione simply shrugged and told him she thought he could use a night off. 

“After all,” she said matter of factly, “You did have a rough morning.”

Harry eyed her suspiciously. 

“What do you mean?” 

She sat her quill down and looked at him. 

“Well, you didn’t drink your hangover cure last night.” 

“Hangover cure? There’s a hangover cure!?”

“Of course,” Hermione said, as if it was obvious. Harry was getting impatient at her blasé demeanor. 

“So can I have some?” He asked. Hermione laughed. 

“Of course you don’t remember. I tried to give you some last night, but you were so… charmed by Hannah that you didn’t notice. You told me to go get you a real drink I believe.” 

Harry flushed, embarrassed by an encounter he remembered little of. 

“Sorry ‘Mione.” 

She gave a good natured shrug of her shoulders, a sign there were no hard feelings. 

“So can I get some of that hangover cure?” Harry asked, eager. 

“Of course, but it won’t do you much good now. It has to be taken with the alcohol so it can counteract it. That’s why I tried to give it to you last night; it won’t fix anything the morning after.”

Harry groaned, rubbing his temples to try and make the pounding go away. Hermione looked at him sympathetically. 

“I’m sure I have something to help with the headache. It won’t work nearly as well as the hangover cure would have, but it’s something.”

20 minutes later Harry had drank down a vial and a half of a bright blue potion whose name he had already forgotten, so intense was his relief. The pounding in his head was a fraction of what it had been that morning. 

“You’re incredible ‘Mione, really,” he said. Hermione looked pleased. 

“Well now maybe you’ll listen to me next time I give you the hangover cure,” she said. Harry nodded fervently. 

Despite his improved headache, he was still nauseous and physically drained from his poor night’s sleep. Ron begged him up until they left, but Harry remained steadfast in his resolve to stay home. Rather than working on homework with Ron and Hermione, he’d opted to read the latest installment of Quidditch Through the Ages and now felt he needed to devote some time to his essays due the following week. 

He hadn't seen Hannah all day and hadn't had the guts to ask Hermione if she was planning on going out with them that evening. Not that it would have changed his mind about staying in. He did think about what Neville had said about Hannah being popular among the 8th years though. Would he have some competition for her?

The Common Room was empty, everyone (Harry assumed Hannah included) having headed to Hogsmeade for round two, so Harry had his choice of seats. He chose a comfy loveseat by the fire, quickly becoming one of his favorite spots in his new home. 

He was barely on the second page of their assigned Potions reading (Counteracting the Natural Acidities of Ingredients for Treating Ailments) when someone plopped down in the loveseat next to him, legs draped over the arm of the chair. 

Initially thinking it was Ron who had doubled back to try and convince him to come out one last time, he balled up a piece of parchment and lobbed it at the new occupant of the seat next to him. 

The occupant who turned out not to be Ron, but a very annoyed looking Draco Malfoy.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woohoo two updates this week! Things really start to pick up in this chapter, hope you all enjoy. As always I adore it when people comment, it makes my week. 
> 
> I recently had some ~ interesting ~ events happen to me and it gave me a lot of inspiration for what's going to happen down the road from here. I am excited and I hope you guys are too!

If he could take back the paper he would. But it was already out of his hands and unfortunately, his aim was very good. It landed square in the center of Malfoy’s face, leaving a smear of ink where Harry’s barely started sentence hadn’t dried yet. 

Malfoy stared at the parchment for a moment where it landed in his lap before picking it up with two fingers as if it was something disgusting and depositing it on the table between them. With a flick of his wand he conjured up a handkerchief which he used to wipe his face with. 

Nonverbal magic, Harry noted, impressed despite himself. He’d always struggled with nonverbal spells no matter how much Hermione had tried to help him. Malfoy cleared his throat, and Harry was pulled out of his reluctant admiration. He rubbed his neck uncomfortably. 

“Sorry. Thought you were -”

“Yes, yes, Granger and the Weasel no doubt,” Malfoy interrupted him. Harry frowned. 

“Don’t call Ron that.” 

Malfoy rolled his eyes. 

“Or what, Potter? Going to tell McGonagall? Use your Chosen One status to land me in a month’s worth of detentions? I’d like to see you try.”

Harry found himself irritated that Malfoy thought that was something he would do. He was going to bite out a retort, but then he remembered what Hermione had said the night after their first round together. That maybe Malfoy felt indebted to him and this was his way of reacting to what he felt to be an uncomfortable balance of power. 

So instead of flinging an insult as had become common practice between them, he turned back to his book and continued making notes in the margins. 

“What, nothing to say for once?” Malfoy sneered. 

Harry underlined an interesting looking passage discussing the differences between natural and man-made acidic components when used in antidotes. He took his time before turning back to Malfoy. 

“Why did you sit next to me?” 

Malfoy recoiled a little, barely noticeable, but Harry still caught it. It seemed Malfoy hadn’t expected him to be so direct. 

He recovered himself quickly, however, and when he responded his tone was as cold and unruffled as ever.  
“Am I not allowed to sit here? Is this seat being saved for someone that I am unaware of? Or am I just not good enough to be in the presence of the Chosen One?” 

Not an answer, Harry noted. He considered asking more on that, but ultimately decided he was unlikely to get an answer. Instead, he focused on something that particularly bothered him. 

“Stop calling me that,” Harry said. Malfoy’s eyes gleamed. A challenge. 

“Stop calling you what, exactly?” 

“The Chosen One. I’ve heard it enough.”

Malfoy’s gray eyes were bright. 

“I don’t think I will. That’s the thing, see, I don’t worship the ground you walk on like all those other simpering fools that follow you around the hallways, hoping you’ll glance their way and grace them with your presence. I don’t have to listen to you. I don’t have to do what you want. I’m not trying to impress you, Potter,” he said. 

If Harry had been energized by their arguing earlier, he now felt the opposite. He didn’t have the energy to respond, so he simply nodded and got out another sheet of parchment to replace the one he had thrown at Malfoy. 

“What, is that all? My God, all the attention has done a number on you. Can’t even argue anymore, could it be a result of your over inflated ego? Unable to take criticism?” 

Malfoy was clearly trying to insult him, but to Harry the jabs felt half-hearted. Instead of responding, he moved on to the next page detailing which acidic levels are needed to treat which ailments. 

“Some savior, can’t even handle a few insults.” 

Harry tried to tune him out, tried to stay focused on the reading.

“I bet if I was Abbott you wouldn’t mind me sitting next to you.”

This caught Harry’s attention. 

“What do you know about Hannah?” he asked sharply. 

Too sharply, because Malfoy’s eyes gleamed and he smirked. 

“Getting defensive are we, Potter? So quick to get protective over your new girlfriend.”

“She’s not my girlfriend.”

“Eyewitnesses say they saw you kissing her against a wall.”

“So?”

“So, some would say that’s what one does with a girlfriend.”

“Why do you care?”

“I don’t.”

“Could have fooled me.”

An awkward silence between them. Harry felt the need to break it.

“She’s not my girlfriend,” he repeated. 

It was then he noticed that barely a foot separated them. They had both started leaning towards each other across the table, too engrossed in their argument to notice. They hadn’t been this close since Malfoy Manor when he had hesitated to identify Harry. Harry wanted to say something about that, somehow thank Malfoy for an act that had likely saved his life. But again he remembered Hermione’s words. He hesitated, trying to find the right thing to say. 

Malfoy didn’t give him time. 

“Perfect Potter, champion of house elves and blood traitors. He’ll cop a feel on any girl he comes within five feet of but is too good to sit next to a Death Eater.”

Harry was surprised to hear a tinge of remorse in his tone. 

“You aren’t a Death Eater,” he said. 

“Aren’t I?” 

Harry looked at him again, this time locking eyes with him and studying his face. The eyes he had so long thought of as a flat dull color he now saw were more complex than that. Different shades of gray folded in on one another and depending on how you looked at them could appear as many different hues.

Malfoy didn’t look away. 

“Well that depends,” Harry said, finally dropping his gaze. He could feel Malfoy’s eyes still on him. “Do you want to be one?” 

Malfoy didn’t respond to that. Harry returned to his reading, getting halfway through the chapter before he had to put the book down. The concepts were getting increasingly confusing and the words were starting to blur. He closed his eyes and rubbed his temples, willing the headache away. He wondered if Hermione’s potion was wearing off. 

They were silent for the next few minutes. Harry began to think Malfoy wasn’t going to say anything for the rest of the evening and started anticipating him leaving. The thought didn’t sit well. Malfoy was like a puzzle and Harry couldn’t stop thinking about him until he figured it out. 

“I wasn’t really given a choice.”

Harry’s head whipped towards Malfoy. His eyes were on the ground and his posture was rigid. Harry waited for him to say more, hoping he would get an explanation. No luck. Malfoy’s eyes remained downcast and he seemed content to remain that way. 

They had never talked like this before, Harry realized. He tried to remember a single conversation they had ever had without insulting each other and couldn’t. Even now, their conversations always started like they used to, with one of them yelling at the other. 

But Harry was so so tired of that. And based on his demeanor, maybe Malfoy was too. So instead of ignoring what had just happened and sliding back into their pre-war roles, Harry pushed his book across the table. 

“Have you done the Potions readings yet?”


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A new chapter? Up a day early? Who am I?! For any new readers - I (try to) update every Thursday and Sunday. 
> 
> I loved writing this chapter. Banter is so fun. Hope you guys enjoy! As always, comments are appreciated.

Malfoy looked startled at Harry’s question. It took him a moment to smooth his features back into place and respond. 

“The reading on acidity and antidotes?” he asked. Harry nodded. 

“Of course I read it. It was assigned on Wednesday,” he said. His tone was condescending, but Harry ignored it, liking to think that it was on reflex, not because Malfoy was angry about anything. 

“I hadn’t gotten around to it until now,” Harry said. 

“Busy week with Abbott?” Malfoy asked, definitely condescending this time. 

“Why do you keep bringing her up?” Harry asked. Malfoy’s cheeks turned faintly pink. 

“Because you think you can do whatever you want and totally disregard everyone else around you. Seems the constant admiration and adoring crowds have finally gone to your head.”

Harry took a moment to ponder this answer. It surprised him. Malfoy had still insulted him, but it felt different that the insults he had relied on before, Harry’s dead parents and inferior blood status. Not to mention it didn’t make much sense. How was hanging out with Hannah disregarding people around him? He considered remarking on this but decided to file the information away for later. He wanted to continue analyzing Malfoy and worried that questioning his responses too much would cause him to shut down and start ignoring Harry again.

So he shifted back to safe topics. 

“I’ve never been brilliant at Potions –” he started, but Malfoy interrupted him with a disbelieving snort. 

“The understatement of the century,” Malfoy said, chuckling at his own wit. 

Harry frowned and waited for him to stop before continuing. 

“What I was trying to say is I could use some help. You’re decent at Potions, yeah?” 

Malfoy looked like Harry had asked him to eat his own hat. 

“What,” he said, disbelief and irritation coloring his tone, “makes you think I would waste my time helping you in a subject where you so clearly lack any talent?”

This made Harry pause. Had his theory been incorrect? Had Malfoy’s brief emotional honesty been simply a lapse in concentration, a slip of the tongue? 

Did Malfoy really hate him as much as he always had? 

Harry was inclined to think he didn’t. He had made the conscious decision to come sit by Harry despite the dozens of other empty seats, not to mention the empty dorm room. That had to count for something. 

Unless Malfoy was scheming, planning something. Suddenly, Harry felt like a 6th year again, paranoid and suspicious. What game was Malfoy playing?

His complicated and no doubt fruitless thoughts were interrupted by Malfoy.

“Nothing to say again? Not going to tell me you’re secretly a Potions talent? No delusions of grandeur – plans to be the next Severus Snape?” 

Harry shrugged, declining to participate in an insult match. Whatever game Malfoy was playing, he wanted no part in it. 

They were quiet for the next few minutes. Malfoy was evidently tired of taunting him when Harry gave him little to work with. It was only when Harry made a note on his parchment that Malfoy said, 

“That’s wrong.”

Harry turned and raised an eyebrow. 

“Your note. That’s wrong. Frog spawn isn’t classified as an acid, it’s chemically neutral meaning it’s not effective in antidotes for intestinal diseases.” 

Harry looked down at what he had just written, saw that it was indeed incorrect, and crossed it out with his quill before marking down what Malfoy had said. He looked up to see him watching Harry write. 

Malfoy scowled as if irritated to be caught interested. 

“Thought you didn’t want to waste your time with me,” Harry said. 

Malfoy looked pained. His lips were pressed hard together, and his eyebrows were knotted above his brow. He looked like he was concentrating, though on what Harry couldn’t guess. His jaw was clenched. 

It took a moment for him to respond.

“I suppose a bit of tutoring couldn’t hurt. Of course, I’ll want something in return.” 

Startled at his sudden change of mind, Harry responded without thinking. 

“Yeah, anything. What did you have in mind?” 

Malfoy smirked, the pained look from before disappearing. 

“Oh, I’m sure I’ll think of something. For now, explain what you know about how using an acid versus a base affects the potion and what ingredients are typically paired with either.” 

Harry gave him a blank look. Malfoy looked disbelieving. 

“Potter, we learned this in the third year.”

Harry shrugged. 

“Like I said, I’m not any good at Potions.”

“I didn’t realize you were totally incompetent.”

“I’m not incompetent! I know some things.” 

“Such as?” 

Harry racked his brains to think of any Potions theory he had committed to memory. He had a feeling Malfoy wouldn’t be impressed by simply naming a potion and describing its effects. 

“Erm – well… doesn’t an antidote have to contain the same ingredients as the poison but in opposite quantities?” Harry asked. 

Malfoy raised an eyebrow.

“And for blended poisons?” he asked.

Harry assumed his initial assertion about antidote ingredients was correct or Malfoy would have corrected him. He tried to think, vaguely remembering the concept being mentioned in his 6th year. He could see Slughorn explaining it, but the words coming out of his mouth wouldn’t come to him. 

“Can’t remember honestly. Care to explain?”

Malfoy closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. Harry snorted. 

“Don’t be dramatic, I’m not that bad.”

Malfoy opened his eyes and gave Harry a serious look. 

“Potter, and I mean this very seriously, you may be the worst Potions student I’ve ever seen. Even Goyle can understand Golpalott’s Third Law.”

Harry had a sudden image of Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle hunched over books in the Slytherin Common Room, Malfoy slowly explaining the concepts to them. No wonder they hadn’t flunked out.

Harry shrugged. 

“Ron wasn’t any good at Potions, and Hermione was too smart to dumb it down for us,” he said. 

Malfoy shook his head in disbelief. 

“I honestly don’t know how you managed to get an OWL in the subject. Perhaps it’s favoritism. Being the golden boy must have its perks,” he said. 

“Stop talking about that. Seriously,” Harry said, irritation coloring his tone. 

Malfoy leaned a bit closer to Harry, lowering his voice.

“Or what?” 

Harry considered backing away, but, Gryffindor through and through, he almost never backed down from a challenge. Especially one involving Malfoy.

“Or the next time I hang out with Hannah it will be in our room. And I won’t use muffliato.”

Malfoy glared at him but didn’t say anything. Harry raised an eyebrow, and Malfoy sighed. 

“Golpalott’s Third Law deals with quantities of ingredients in blended poisons. When creating the antidote for a normal poison, the quantities are reversed, but it’s more complicated for blended…” 

Harry began rapidly taking notes.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi friends! 
> 
> Bit of a late upload, Thanksgiving and all that. In other news - should be getting my laptop charger back tomorrow! Expect a new chapter Sunday as usual.

He and Malfoy ended up working until the middle of the night. Their study session was broken up by an irritated looking Hermione dragging an incoherent Ron into the Common Room. She looked at them, clearly surprised to see them together, and Malfoy immediately backed his chair away from Harry’s. It was only then that Harry noticed how close they had been, pouring over the textbook and Harry’s growing pile of poorly written Potions notes. 

She must not have had any energy to spare, however, because rather than questioning Harry about his new study buddy she marched Ron over to the two of them, plopped him on the arm chair on Harry’s other side, said a quick “Keep an eye on him”, and stalked through the tapestry that concealed a passage into the castle. For emergencies, Harry remembered McGonagall saying. 

Malfoy gave Harry a questioning look. He just shrugged, looking down at Ron who was definitely breathing but definitely not coherent. He was slumped down in the arm chair, eyes closed and mumbling something about Gwenog Jones. 

When he looked back up, Malfoy had gathered his things - two supplemental books on potion-making he’d Accio-ed after agreeing to help Harry and a pile of diagrams he'd drawn up - and was preparing to leave. 

“What, are we done?” Harry asked. It was probably for the best, they’d been working for at least three hours and he was tired, but he found himself slightly disappointed. Potions was much more interesting when Malfoy was the one teaching than it ever had been with Snape or Slughorn. It involved the same amount of insults as it had when Snape was Potions Master, but Harry found he enjoyed the jabs more coming from Malfoy. 

“Yes, Potter, we’re done. You seem busy at the moment.” He gestured at Ron who’s mouth had opened partway. 

“Well when are we going to meet next?” Harry asked. Malfoy raised his eyebrows and smirked. 

“Dying to spend more time with me? I can’t say I blame you,” he said.

Harry’s face heated, and he jumped to defend himself. 

“No. Just want to make sure I get a head start on the concepts for this week, that’s all,” he said in a casual tone he didn’t quite feel. 

He was surprised how tolerable Malfoy had been while tutoring him. He’d expected constant ridicule at his subpar understanding of concepts, but Malfoy had been a surprisingly good teacher. He’d flung some insults Harry’s way, of course, but instead of cold dislike these insults were backed by a heated sarcasm Harry wasn’t used to. 

He found he quite liked it. In this new tone, the remarks Malfoy made came off as witty rather than condescending. They were still arguing, but the arguments had a lighter tone. Harry wasn’t sure if this was a permanent change or just his sleep deprived brain making him interpret things incorrectly.

Malfoy gave him a brief nod before turning away and heading, Harry presumed, back to their room.

He was reflecting on the evening when Hermione walked back into the room holding a platter of grilled cheese sandwiches, a glass of water, and a mug of what smelled like mint tea. She sat down in the seat Malfoy had just vacated and propped her feet on the table, a sure sign she was exhausted. She picked up the mug, wrapping both hands around it, and began sipping 

“Rough night for Ron?” Harry asked. She glared at his sleeping form. 

“Ronald decided that tonight was the perfect night to challenge Dean to a drinking contest. Loser bought the next three rounds,” she said in an exasperated voice. “Of course, he quickly realized he couldn’t afford the next three rounds, so his only option was to win.”

Harry gave a low whistle. 

“How much did he drink?” 

“Well, to save money, he and Dean decided it would be smart to just buy an entire bottle rather than have Abe keep bringing them shots. They got the cheapest bottle of vodka - really awful stuff Harry, I mean the kind that tastes like rubbing alcohol - and started going shot for shot.”

She paused to look over at Ron, deciding whether to wake him or not. She seemed to decide against it for the moment and turned back to Harry. 

“When it was all said and done the bottle was nearly empty and Ronald had taken twelve shots. But lucky him! Dean only took ten so he didn’t have to get the next round. Not that he got to enjoy the free drink. He was puking within fifteen minutes,” she said grimly. 

“Why did he take twelve if Dean only took ten?” Harry asked. Hermione made an exasperated sound. 

“That’s not the point!” 

Harry raised his eyebrows, and she gave a huff. 

“I believe he said something about how he was just getting started and… oh what was it? Something about how drinking is in his blood? I think he mentioned an uncle or two. Anyway, the point is Ronald is going to take next weekend off from drinking,” she said firmly.

She turned back to Ron and shook him awake. His eyes opened and he made a sound between a gasp and a snort that had Harry laughing while Hermione looked at him with irritation. 

“Hey ‘Mione… how’s the bean chair?” he asked. Hermione handed him a sandwich. 

“Eat, don’t talk,” she said. Ron complied, laying his head back in the chair while lazily chewing his sandwich. 

“Bean chair?” Harry asked. 

“He and Dean got into a discussion about bean bags,” she said. Harry suddenly wondered what kind of night they could have possibly had that led them to talking about bean bag chairs. He was suddenly sad he missed it. 

As if she could hear his thoughts, Hermione said - 

“But what about your night? Malfoy was sitting by you. Were the two of you hanging out?” She sounded incredulous. 

Harry ran a hand through his hair, making it messier than it already was. 

“Yeah, sort of. I guess he’s tutoring me in Potions now,” he said. 

Hermione looked shocked. 

“He is? You’re kidding! If I’d known you wanted Potions lessons I would have offered to help, but you never said anything. Regardless, I’m pleased you seem to be patching things up with him. I’m sure this is exactly what McGonagall wanted!”

Her enthusiasm made Harry’s face heat. 

“It’s not like that, ‘Mione,” he mumbled. “We’re not friends or anything, he’s just helping me with school and stuff.” 

He wasn’t quite sure why he was downplaying it. There was no denying tonight had been a huge step for him and Malfoy. It wasn’t friendship, but it was the closest the two of them had ever gotten. They’d tolerated each other for over three hours which was a small miracle. 

Hermione was still beaming in a way that made him feel uncomfortable. Luckily, Ron decided at that moment to drop his grilled cheese on the floor. 

“Oh for heaven’s sake,” Hermione said, clearing the floor with a flick of her wand. She shook Ron awake again and forced a glass of water down his throat before making her apologies to Harry for leaving so soon and promising to talk more tomorrow. 

Harry started to clear his things off the table, knowing he wouldn’t get any further tonight without Malfoy to help him. 

When he got to his room, everyone had their hangings fastened tight around their beds. He found his eyes lingering on Malfoy’s for longer than usual and wondered at what could have prompted him to sit by Harry earlier.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey babes - 
> 
> New chapter! Please comment! I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Also for any new readers - I have a TikTok where I make lotsa Drarry stuff, feel free to follow ~ @whattimeisitrightnow.com

Harry planned to look for Malfoy first thing after breakfast to continue working, but his plans were derailed by an enthusiastic Hannah suggesting they spend the afternoon together in the library catching up on schoolwork. Hoping for a repeat of Friday night, he happily agreed. 

They chose a secluded table in the corner of the library next to a large window overlooking the greenhouses. Harry could see Hagrid’s cabin in the distance and made a mental note to go visit him sometime this week. 

They decided to work on their Transfiguration essay first, something neither of them had started. Hannah was further behind on schoolwork than Harry though because she’d gone out two nights in a row, something Harry made a point of asking about. 

“Oh, it was hysterical, you absolutely should have been there!” she said with a laugh when Harry asked about Ron and Dean’s drinking contest. 

“Although personally,” she continued, “I think Dean should have won it since Ron puked. Puking is disqualification in my book. If you can’t keep the alcohol down, you’re out. Those are the rules we always played by.” 

“We?” Harry asked. She laughed. 

“Did you think all the Hufflepuffs did was read books and relax by the fire? We had drinking contests every other weekend in the sixth year. Time honored tradition passed down from generations of students before us,” she said, smiling as she reminisced. 

Harry was surprised. He, like most other students, had always thought the Hufflepuffs were all sweet and cuddly. He’d figured they spent their weekends reading fantasy novels and drinking ginseng tea. The idea of these kind cinnamon rolls throwing back copious amounts of alcohol on the weekends was surprising, but not unwelcome. Hannah was showing more sides of herself, and Harry was intrigued.

“Who usually won?” he asked. She smirked. 

“I held my own, but Ernie almost always won,” she said.

“ _Ernie?_ ” Harry said in disbelief. Hannah laughed at his expression. 

“Surprised? So were we. First weekend sixth year we were all excited, we’d been hearing about the legendary contests for years and it was finally our turn. We’d been taking bets on who would quit first, who would puke, who would win, and most of us agreed Justin was the one likely to win – stocky, had been drinking since he was eleven at family dinners, the works.” 

She paused, smiling, and the look on her face made Harry nostalgic for something he had never had. He tried to think of similar traditions the Gryffindors had and came up blank. He wondered of Ravenclaws and Slytherins had anything special they did.

 _Other than being Death Eaters, of course,_ a small, nasty voice in his head said when he thought about the Slytherins. He frowned at his own intrusive thought and pushed it aside. The Harry from two years ago would have laughed and made the remark later when he saw Ron, but this Harry knew that House placement didn’t equal morality. 

And House placement clearly didn’t equal drinking abilities either if Hannah’s story was anything to go off of. 

She was talking again. 

“– getting ready, yeah, and we had a bottle of vodka that Susan had her older sister buy us and honestly we all thought Ern was just going to spectate, maybe take a shot or two, but we didn’t really expect him to participate or anything…”

She spoke with her hands and an animated tone of voice that made Harry want to hear more. She was a natural storyteller and Harry thought about her talking in the Hufflepuff Common Room, imagining that the other students would hang onto her every word, dying to hear what part of the story came next. 

“– so we were on I think it was shot six which back then was a lot, right – we all had really low tolerances - and I couldn’t do any more, and Justin had tapped out at four can you believe it? Turns out he’d only drank sweet wine at family holidays and his stomach wasn’t prepared for shitty vodka. Anyways, we were on shot six and I’d just quit so it was just Susan and Ernie, and Sus was struggling, I mean barely able to stand, but Ern was holding his own. Honestly you’d think he hadn’t had more than a single shot the way he carried himself. Sus ended up tapping out halfway between seven and eight, she couldn’t take the whole thing, and Ern swears he could have kept drinking all night. He’s the reigning champ; I think I’ve only beat him four times, and two of those times was because he was recovering from the flu.” 

Harry took a moment to let this new information sink in. He vaguely remembered Ernie on Friday night. He didn’t remember him drinking much, but then again he’d been distracted. 

“I’ll have to take him on sometime,” Harry said with a grin. Hannah threw her head back and laughed. Harry found he quite liked it when she laughed. Her eyes brightened and her pretty teeth flashed.

“You could barely handle yourself on Friday, and you think you could take on Ernie? I highly doubt that” she said, raising an eyebrow and smiling in way Harry knew to be a challenge. 

“Well I’ll take you on first then,” Harry said. “You’ll be an excellent warm-up.” 

“You’re on,” she said, showing off her teeth again. 

All in all they got very little studying done. Hannah kept doing little things like scrunching her nose up when she laughed and tossing her hair behind her shoulders that Harry found incredibly distracting.

They hadn’t even finished comparing notes on the week’s Transfiguration lessons before Harry pulled her behind a shelf of books, trying to remove any inch of space between them. Hannah was more than willing, responding with the same enthusiasm she’d had on Friday. 

Soon though, far too soon in Harry’s opinion, Madame Pince found them and practically threw them out of the library, screaming about how they would be banned for life. She charmed their school supplies to rap them on their heads on the way out. 

They laughed as they ran down the hallway in an attempt to escape the shrieks of Madame Pince. When their school supplies finally relented, they collected everything up and headed back to the Common Room. Harry had suggested they find an empty corridor, but Hannah smacked him playfully on the head with a grin, saying she needed to get at least a bit of work done. Harry shrugged, about to attempt to convince her otherwise, before remembering that he hadn’t practiced any of his spells for Charms on top of his unfinished Transfiguration essay. He, albeit unhappily, agreed. 

Hermione was in the Common Room which was unhelpful for getting to talk with Hannah more but incredibly useful for expediting his homework. Hermione initially refused to share her work with them, common practice, but as always, after pleading and a bit of flattery, she agreed to help, “As long as you do your own research!” 

They worked throughout the early evening. Other eighth years came and went, checking their work with Hermione’s and offering suggestions. Nev joined them around hour three and ended up staying until the end, minus a half hour break he took in the middle to visit the kitchens and get leftover breakfast pastries for them. 

They were munching on croissants around hour five when Malfoy came in. Harry had found himself wondering where Malfoy was – he hadn’t seen him in the library or at breakfast. 

He thought of the night before and was about to wave him over to join them, when Malfoy scowled and stalked out of the room. Harry frowned. He briefly considered going after him and demand to know what his problem was, but at that moment Hannah had just put her hand on his thigh and any idea of leaving vanished. 

It wasn’t until later that night that he thought again about his encounter with Malfoy during the afternoon. Their group had grown to five by the end of the evening – him, Hermione, Hannah, Nev, and Ernie. They’d broken up around nine, everyone having mostly finished their work. It was also around that time that Ron had returned from an impromptu Quidditch match with Dean, Seamus, and Justin. He pulled Hermione away, and without her there wasn’t much point continuing. 

The remaining members of their little group had moved to the chairs by the fire and were recounting stories from the weekend and laughing. Gradually more and more eighth years joined them, all laughing and reminiscing. 

He liked this, Harry decided, the eight years all coming together. He liked getting to know people from other houses and learning about their traditions – it turned out the Ravenclaw’s all put money into a pot at the start of exam week and whoever got the lowest scores had to be the sober babysitter as the rest got absolutely hammered using the slush fund. He discovered that the Hufflepuffs all were given a designated plant to care for at the start of the year, and the one whose plant grew the most by the end was rewarded by getting to keep it – and they got to pick a plant to take its place from Professor Sprout’s personal cache of rare and exotic species. 

Neville was put out he’d never had a chance to do this tradition and demanded they start up something similar among the eighth years with green thumbs. Terry and a few of his fellow Ravenclaws were enthusiastic about the idea, and Dean went on a tangent about an excellent collection of succulents he had back home. Nev begged Harry to join them, but Harry laughed and declared he couldn’t even keep a cactus alive. 

Malfoy never joined them. Harry found himself wondering about the Slytherins. They had always been a close-knit bunch, was that simply the result of the prejudice they faced from the other students? Or did they bond through traditions not generally known to outsiders? He made a mental note to ask Malfoy. 

If Malfoy didn’t revert to ignoring him tomorrow. 

If their tentative unspoken truce held. 

If Malfoy kept helping him with Potions. 

Regardless of their tutoring sessions though, they would have to meet tomorrow night for rounds as usual. Harry found himself rather looking forward to it before stopping himself. He could feel his “obsession”, as Hermione would call it, with Malfoy returning, only this time it wasn’t suspicion that drove it, rather curiosity. 

Why didn’t Malfoy come sit with them earlier? 

He supposed he shouldn’t be surprised. Malfoy hadn’t made any friends outside of Slytherin ever as far as Harry knew. He had always been a bully to anyone who wasn’t in his circle. 

With a pang of regret, Harry realized he and his friends hadn’t been much better. Was this why Malfoy hadn’t made any attempts to spend time with them so far this year? Because he feared they wouldn’t accept him? 

Then again, they had blatantly omitted Zabini and Malfoy from their drinking escapades over the weekend, so maybe his concerns were valid. Of course Malfoy expected to be an outsider. So far, they’d treated him like one. The thought made him nauseous. Harry excused himself, absently stroking Hannah’s hair as he said good night. 

Malfoy’s bed was empty when Harry got into the room. He briefly considered going to find him, to say what he wasn’t quite sure, but ultimately decided he was probably the last person Malfoy wanted to see. He went to bed that night after promising himself he would ask Malfoy and Zabini to Hogsmeade this weekend. 

They would probably say no, but Harry didn’t want their exclusion on his conscience. He yawned, knowing both McGonagall and Hermione would be pleased.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I call this chapter 'Harry Being Angsty and Thinking about Stuff'
> 
> Sorry it's not very long, I had a very mentally exhausting week. Next chapter coming Sunday like usual.

Harry was idly picking at his eggs the next morning when Hermione reminded him their inter-house group meeting was tomorrow. He groaned. Hermione gave him a disapproving look. 

“Don’t be like that. I think this will be a excellent opportunity to get to know the people from different houses!” 

“’Mione, we _live_ with people from different houses. We sleep in the same rooms with people from different houses. More recently, we’ve gotten drunk with people from other houses. I’m not sure how much bonding we can do,” he said. 

Personally, Harry didn’t really mind extra time with the other eighth years. Academically however, these meetings would be carving into his already limited out of class time to do schoolwork. He vaguely remembered McGonagall mentioning there would be time for homework after they discussed current events. What events they would discuss Harry couldn’t begin to guess. Likely something about him and Voldemort and how the wizarding world was entering a new age. He internally groaned at the idea of more attention being put on him. 

The day moved quickly after that. Herbology was a breeze; Sprout was still largely focused on reviewing plants from the sixth year to ensure everyone was refreshed before launching into the seventh year curriculum many of them missed for one reason or another. 

DADA was nothing new either, but despite knowing all the spells being discussed that day, the enthusiasm with which Professor Gillenwater taught had Harry paying more attention than he usually would have. He found himself noticing small things, like how Gillenwater rolled his sleeves up to his elbows when demonstrating a spell, showing off his muscular forearms. Harry was putting in more effort to DADA than he had in years, and he noted that it correlated with Professor Gillenwater’s proximity. Whenever he came close to Harry and Ron, Harry enthusiastically went through the wand motions, throwing a spell at Ron with more force than necessary. 

“Excellent form, Harry!” Gillenwater said. “But take it easy, we don’t need Mr. Weasley to end up in the Hospital Wing!”

Ron grumbled as he picked himself off the floor, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like ‘show-off’. Harry was too pleased with Gillenwater’s praise to notice. 

Dinner was filled with lively conversation in which Harry took no part, too focused on playing out a variety of hypothetical scenarios in his head all relating to how he would talk to Malfoy that evening. 

Would he bring up Saturday night? Should he ask Malfoy why he didn’t come sit with them Sunday? What was the best way to ask him and Zabini to Hogsmeade?

He was mulling over various ways the evening could go when his stream of consciousness was interrupted by a honey vanilla smell he had come to associate with lovely stories and lips on his own. 

He turned to smile at Hannah as she piled roast beef and mashed carrots on her plate. She was wearing a pair of thick horn-rimmed glasses today that made her look sophisticated. She grinned at Harry when she caught him staring. 

“Like the glasses? They’re an old pair of my mum’s. Borrowed them and charmed the lenses to match my prescription. Can’t wait until I get my eyes fixed though; I’ve already found a healer in Ireland that’ll do them when I turn 22. Can you believe most make you wait until you’re 27? By that time I’ll be positively geriatric.” 

She mimed an old person, hunched over and carrying a cane. Harry laughed. 

“I honestly never thought about getting my eyes fixed with magic. I kind of like the glasses I suppose. They’re nostalgic,” he said. 

“Well don’t get used to these ones!” Hannah said, wiggling her eyebrows. “The minute I turn 22 they’re banished to a spare box in my closet!”

Lunch turned into Charms and then, to Harry’s chagrin, Double Potions. Despite his dislike for the subject, he participated in the class discussion about the readings with a bit more confidence than he had in years past. Malfoy had been a surprisingly good teacher. He looked over to where Malfoy was sitting, talking quietly to Zabini. Malfoy seemed to sense Harry’s eyes on him. He looked over briefly before scowling and turning back to Zabini. 

So much for their brief truce on Saturday. 

***  
After the uncomfortable encounter in Potions, Harry had begun to dread the evening’s rounds. He even briefly considered going to McGonagall to say he wasn’t feeling well enough to do the Head Boy duties that night, but decided it was useless. He would only be delaying the inevitable. 

He found he was dressing with more care than usual that evening; he even tried to flatten his unruly hair. He was surprised when he realized what he was doing. The notion that he cared what Malfoy thought about him was such a departure from his thoughts on the situation this time last year that he had to take a moment to sit down and process. 

Of course, he didn’t _want_ anyone to not like him. But he had never cared what Malfoy thought before, always content to let him simmer in a constant rage over Harry’s mere existence. 

Clearly he cared now. 

Something had shifted on Saturday, he knew that, but he hadn’t noticed the magnitude until now. Had he been thinking about Malfoy all day? And now he was trying to look presentable for their rounds?

It dawned on him that he _wanted_ Malfoy to like him. Tired of the childhood rivalry that reminded him so much of the war, of factions split by family loyalty and adults using children in games the kids didn’t understand the ramifications of. Befriending Malfoy would be the ultimate antithesis to that, a sign that the future everyone thought had been so clear for him, the one all the adults in his life had encouraged and hoped for, was not the future he wanted.

He cringed as he thought of a life with Ginny. Settling down near the Burrow, coming every Sunday for dinner with their kids, living a perfectly tolerable, boring life. He shuddered. Ginny was lovely, he thought, but the future that everyone in his life seemed to want for him no longer seemed like one he wanted for himself. 

He sighed, confused. Malfoy’s behavior Saturday had done irreparable damage to the bitter hatred between them. Harry could never blindly dislike him again, too tuned in now to what he had likely gone through in the war. There had never been a doubt about which side Harry would support. He didn’t have to go against family or friends to do what was right. Malfoy hadn’t had that luxury. 

Abandoning his futile efforts to make his hair look presentable, he threw on his robes and made for the castle to start the evening’s round.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! Hope everyone is having a good week. It recently snowed here for the first time this season. 
> 
> Trying to make chapters longer; I feel like the fic is slow going. But I like to do a lot of world building and establish complex relationships between characters. Hopefully you guys don't mind the pace too much!
> 
> As always, comments are appreciated. I read every one even if I don't respond. Much love ~

Harry was getting irritated. He checked his watch – 8:15. He’d been waiting in the Entrance Hall for Malfoy since 7:55. Malfoy had never been late before, a result of a childhood of luxury and class Harry supposed. He figured Malfoy had been taught from a young age that punctuality was of the utmost importance. He could picture a 7 year old Malfoy in a miniature suit, being lectured on the importance of being on time. The image almost made him smile. 

Clearly the lesson hadn’t made much of an impression. 

Malfoy finally showed around 8:25, sauntering in a casual manner that made Harry’s blood boil. He seemed in no rush despite being almost a half hour late. 

“Where’ve you been?” Harry asked heatedly. Malfoy smirked. 

“None of your business, Potter,” he said. 

Harry frowned. 

“We were supposed to start our round a half hour ago,” he said. He tried to sound authoritative, but worried his tone came off whiny. 

Based off Malfoy’s reaction, he guessed he hadn’t quite managed the authority he’d hoped for. Malfoy’s eyebrows were raised, and he didn’t deign to respond. Harry sighed, expecting the evening to only get worse. 

“Let’s just get started. I’ve got an essay to work on after this.” 

They started on the first floor, walking in silence. Harry almost hoped they would run into an errant student or have to break up a fight just for a distraction from the silent monotony. He found himself thinking back on Saturday night, the casual insults that seemed to lack heat and Malfoy’s unexpected, almost accidental brief openness. 

Did he regret it? Was that why he was ignoring Harry now? Initially, Harry had wanted to try and break down more of Malfoy’s walls, but his current demeanor made Harry think he would be lucky to learn what Malfoy’s favorite color was as a child, much less where his blood purity mania had come from and if he still thought that way. He decided to stick with safe topics and reverted to his default. 

“Is Zabini any good at Potions? I saw the two of you are partners,” Harry said in a forced casual tone. 

Malfoy was silent for a moment before responding in a tight voice, “Yeah. Learned pretty quick Crabbe and Goyle wouldn’t be any help in classes, so Zabini and I always studied together.” 

He paused, and then added, “And he’s the only other Slytherin that came back, so.”

“Did any of the others want to come back?” Harry asked. Malfoy gave him a weird look. 

“What are you playing at, Potter?” 

Harry was confused; had he said something wrong?

“I was just wondering. Every Gryffindor came back, and most of the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws.”

Malfoy was looking at him like he was stupid. 

“You have no idea where the other Slytherins are, do you?” he asked, like he was speaking to a child. Harry shook his head. 

Malfoy turned away and began scanning the hallway with unnecessary ferocity as if expecting danger to be lurking around every corner. Harry was debating asking him to explain further, when Malfoy started speaking again. 

“Obviously our families weren’t welcome anymore. All of our parents lost their jobs, even Pansy’s, and her parents fled the country the minute things started looking bad. They had nothing to do with… well, you know, but because they’re Slytherins everyone lumps them in with shitty Death Eaters like my parents – like my father.”

Harry was surprised to hear the animosity in his tone. He hadn’t seemed particularly close with his father at the trial, but Harry hadn’t been prepared for the dislike in his voice. 

“So where is everyone else now?” Harry asked, although he could guess the answer. He hadn’t thought about it much before; he’d disassociated so much during those initial trials he hadn’t noticed the absences that were now coming to mind. 

“Theo’s family left mid-battle when it was clear The Dar – er, I mean You-Know-Who wasn’t going to win. Goyle and his family left soon after. No one’s heard from Crabbe’s parents either, even though he obviously wasn’t coming back this year.” 

Harry had a flash of a memory he’d hoped to forget – piles of hidden treasures burning, the fear he wouldn’t make it out, the look in Malfoy’s eyes when Harry’d doubled back for him. He shuddered.

Malfoy was still talking.

“Pansy and her family stayed out of the country even once the war ended, and Millicent is staying with her Aunt in France until everything calms down here. Neither of them know when they’ll be back. As for the others, well, with direct Death Eater ties, I’m not sure they’ll ever be welcome back.”

Harry thought about Theodore Nott, a small boy with an unimposing presence. Had he ever been part of the Death Eaters? Harry didn’t remember ever seeing him in his visions or even at the battle. He remembered his father though – a small man that always seemed hunched over, from reverence to Voldemort or physical ailments Harry couldn’t say. 

“Blaise and I were the unlucky ones whose parents decided to stay in Britain. Both our parents went through trials, as I’m sure you remember as you spoke at mine. As part of our probationary period we were required to return to Hogwarts and be on our best behaviors. Any rule breaking and we could end up in Azkaban.” 

Malfoy paused, and Harry didn’t respond. He was thinking about the pressure Malfoy and Zabini must be under. Breaking a rule at school resulting in jail time? That didn’t seem quite fair, especially when he assumed Zabini had avoided being charged for the worst of the crimes he’d been accused of, just as Malfoy had been. 

“You know the worst part? Zabini and his mom weren't even involved. Never. Just like Pansy and her parents. But because they were both Slytherins the Ministry assumed they both had something to do with everything. Zabini was given the same probationary terms as me even though what I did was much worse.” 

Harry held his breath, not trusting himself to speak. He’d never heard Malfoy talk about his actions in the war before except for the small mention of not having a choice on Saturday. 

But Malfoy stopped talking and didn’t seem inclined to start again. In fact, his cheekbones were red as if embarrassed by how much he’d said. Harry had a million questions, but he stayed quiet, not wanting to scare Malfoy from this new openness. 

They patrolled for the next half hour without speaking. Harry’s mind was buzzing. He wanted to say something to show Malfoy he appreciated what he’d told him, but he wasn’t sure how to speak without coming off as condescending. At the same time, he worried if he changed the subject altogether it would come off as dismissive. 

“The stereotypes are bullshit,” he blurted, and suddenly, without knowing where it came from or why he was saying it, Harry was sharing something he’d told very few people. 

“Especially the Slytherin ones," he continued, "All the dark wizard nonsense. I knew Andromeda Tonks, and I heard about Reg Black and they both fought against Voldemort. The Ministry is shit for lumping all Slytherins into one category." 

“And,” Harry said, “Slytherin can’t be all dark wizards. It’s impossible because… because I was supposed to be one.” He paused and then clarified. “A Slytherin, I mean. Not a dark wizard.” 

He expected Malfoy to react in some way – disbelief maybe, or condescension about Harry could never be a “real Slytherin” because of his blood status. 

What he didn’t expect was Malfoy to turn and look him full in the face, his lips a thin line.

“I don’t need your pity, Potter. I made my choices. Now I have to live with the consequences.” 

“Yeah,” Harry said, “But Zabini made choices too. Different ones. And he’s living with the same consequences.” 

Malfoy stopped walking. Harry paused a few steps ahead of him and turned to see what was causing the delay. Malfoy had his head tilted slightly to the side, and the fire in the nearest sconce was illuminating his soft features. He looked thoughtful. 

“You talk like a Slytherin," he said. "Can’t believe I never noticed it before.”

And then they were walking again, searching the corridors for mischief and errant rule breakers. They didn’t speak, but the silence wasn’t as heavy as it had been before.


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I meant to write a lot today. Then I got drunk. So here we are. 
> 
> Sorry - this chapter is a bit slow. Expect more vibrant content on Sunday!

The start of the week passed quickly. Malfoy didn’t open up again about his time in the war, but he wasn’t as distant as he’d been before. He didn't glare at Harry quite so much, and his insults felt less deeply personal. On Monday, he hid in a corner of the Common Room until Ron left his spot in the chair next to Harry for a game of chess with Seamus. Harry had barely closed his Charms book before Malfoy had taken the chair Ron had left empty. Harry looked at him with surprise. 

“Potions?” Malfoy asked.

Still surprised, but pleased, Harry nodded. 

Malfoy held his composure for the first half hour, but Harry noticed his face steadily getting redder and his hair getting messier from him running his hands through it as they progressed. 

Finally, when Harry asked him to reexplain for the third time how the process of acidification worked, Malfoy snapped. 

“Tell me you aren’t really this stupid, Potter. Please tell me this is some elaborate joke, and soon you’ll reveal you’re actually a semi-competent Potions student.”

Harry shook his head, feelings a bit hurt even though he knew Malfoy was right. The only person worse at Potions than him was Ron. Malfoy sighed and ran his hand through his hair for the umpteenth time. It was sticking up at odd angles and so unlike his usually pristine slicked back style that Harry found himself frequently looking at it. 

Malfoy noticed. 

“What are you looking at?”

Slightly embarrassed at being caught, Harry sheepishly said, “Your hair. It’s not usually messy like that. You look different.”

Malfoy didn’t answer, but smoothed his hair back in place. He raised an eyebrow, and then gestured at Harry’s Potions book. 

“Is this why you’re so shitty at Potions? You can’t stop looking at my hair?” 

His face was serious, but Harry could tell he was trying not to smile. He could see the smirk playing at the edge of Malfoy’s mouth. Not knowing how to respond, Harry turned back to his book.

By the end of the first hour, Harry was able to name at least five common ingredients in acidification. By the end of the second, he could explain the process fairly well, and by the end of the third, he had a grasp on the effects the process had on various potions and ingredients. 

Malfoy wasn’t an encouraging teacher in the traditional way. He didn’t enthusiastically congratulate Harry when he understood a concept or even look remotely excited when he answered a question correctly, but Harry could tell Malfoy was pleased with him based on his facial expressions. His eyebrows were less furrowed and his eyes less narrowed when Harry understood a concept, and the insults came less frequently. No compliments, but Malfoy didn’t say a word about Harry’s inferior Potions abilities when he correctly explained how dung beetles worked as a base for a Forgetfulness Potion. 

Based on previous patterns, Harry was fully anticipating being paired with Malfoy at their Tuesday inter-House discussion session. To his surprise, however, when the night came, the Slytherin he was paired with was Zabini. Harry found himself rather disappointed. He had been looking forward to discussing current events with Malfoy, hoping they would coerce him into sharing more about his past. 

Instead, he found himself discussing House Elf rights with Zabini, Seamus, Susan Bones, Terry Boot, and Hermione, who had quite a lot to say on the subject, which was fully expected. What was supposed to be an hour of spirited discussion between people with different opinions became an hour of Hermione lecturing them on why House Elfs deserved better treatment, complete with intricate descriptions of Winky, Kreacher, and Dobby. When explaining the latter, Harry’s eyes began watering, and he excused himself under the premise of needing to use the rest room. 

Harry rubbed his temples in an attempt to make his headache go away. Thinking about Dobby brought back painful memories he would have rather forgotten. He was considering asking McGonagall to let him leave for the rest of the session, when the door to the bathroom opened. He turned to see Ron looking at him with concern. 

“You okay, mate?” Ron asked. 

Harry rubbed his temples again before giving Ron with a faux grin. 

“Yeah, ‘course. Just needed to take a breather, ‘Mione’s being a nightmare with the House Elf discussion,” he said, hoping Ron would accept his forced easy attitude. 

No such luck. Ron’s eyebrows were raised in a way that suggested he was more concerned than his tone was letting on. 

“You can join us, you know. I doubt old McGonagall would mind,” he said in a voice Harry recognized as forced calm. Harry matched the energy. 

“Nah, ‘m all right with the group I’m in. And anyway, I’m not trying to be around Malfoy any more than necessary.” 

His insult at Malfoy was expected and appreciated. Ron laughed, clearly relieved Harry was acting like himself again. Harry continued smiling to complete the effect, though the jab at Malfoy felt strange. 

“Wanna head back out?” Ron asked. 

Ignoring the sharp pain in his head, Harry nodded. 

No one noticed when he returned to his seat, so focused they had been on trying to look interested in Hermione’s tirade. Harry slid back in to his seat by Susan unnoticed; her eyes were half closed, head resting on her propped up hand. 

Harry was relieved when the discussion part of their biweekly meeting ended and the study hall part began. He pulled out his Potions essay and began working.

It took him roughly ten minutes before he realized he was wasting his time. Although he had a newfound understanding of acidification, the potions they had discussed in class today made little sense to him. It was like reading a language he didn’t understand, and the translation that was Snape’s old textbook was lost to him in a cursed fire started by a dead boy. He rubbed his temples again. 

He was filled with a renewed hope when he saw Hermione was working on the same essay. 

“Hey ‘Mione, what are the acidic properties of the Sleeping Draught?” he asked. 

She scoffed. 

“Harry, I’ve explained this to you before. Acidic ingredients result in a stronger draught than basic, and can be calculated by taking the weight of a teaspoon powdered root minus the leaf quantity, but only when the ingredients were harvested at a full moon. If they were harvested at a half moon, then you need to take each ingredient at half its potency because the moon and acidity directly correlate, unless, of course, it’s summertime, in which case – ” 

Malfoy was surprised to see Harry sit down across him, but significantly less shocked than Ron, who was initially delighted to see Harry, but whose joy vanished when he noticed Harry hadn’t come to see him. 

“Can you help me with the Sleeping Draught essay? Can’t figure out how the moon’s phases shift the potion’s effectiveness,” he said. 

Malfoy still looked surprised but nodded. Harry pulled out his Potions book and handed the notes he’d taken so far to Malfoy who began scanning over them as had become their practice. Ron was looking at Harry as though he’d never seen him before, and McGonagall sitting up in her Headmistress' chair had gone so far as to position her glasses on the bridge of her nose to better examine them. 

Harry tried to ignore them, reminding himself this arrangement was good in two ways – one, it got him a better Potions grade, and two – it got both Hermione and McGonagall off his back. Surely when they saw him working with Malfoy they would relax their suggestions that he mingle more with people from different houses. 

He found himself thinking of a third benefit as well – that he himself felt better. Rather than arguing with Malfoy, it was like they had found common ground. He no longer felt like he and Malfoy belonged to ‘us’ and ‘them’ categories, rather a ‘we’ group. It made him feel less guilty for alienating Malfoy when they were at school, made him feel less responsible for Malfoy’s fate. 

Because he felt responsible, in a way. He’d found himself wondering about what-if’s lately – what if he had befriended Seamus and Dean instead of Ron and Hermione, what if Dobby had never come to Malfoy Manor, what if Griphook hadn’t been the first goblin to speak with him at Gringotts? 

One of those what-if’s was ‘what if he had taken Malfoy’s hand in the first year?’ 

Would Harry’s friendship have been enough to keep Malfoy off the Death Eater past? Could he have defied his parents’ wishes if he had been friends with the Golden Trio? 

Of course, what-if’s were useless now. He had and they did and here they were. He hadn’t taken Malfoy’s hand in the first year, he hadn’t tried to make peace with him later on, and he had hit him with a deadly curse in the sixth year. 

Cursed him to the point where he’d almost died. Harry shivered and pushed the memory of Malfoy bloody on the bathroom floor out of his mind. 

“Potter.” His clear voice was tinged with reproach. Harry snapped to attention, meeting his eyes that were dark gray tonight. 

"Yeah?" Harry asked. 

“Focus,” he said. 

Harry focused. 

That night, the nightmares returned.


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Longer chapter, hooray!
> 
> Note to anyone new here - I update every Thursday and Sunday !

He was thumbing through his copy of the Half-Blood Prince’s Potions book, reading the notes in the margins about acidification in hopes it would provide additional insight. 

Malfoy plopped down into the chair next to him laying on his stomach. He propped his head up on the arm of the chair and grinned at Harry, who found himself suddenly feeling warm. It was comfortable at first, like a cozy fire or the sun warming him on a summer afternoon. He smiled back, noticing a light was glinting off Malfoy’s pale hair that was messier than usual. 

He was about to ask Malfoy a question, about what he couldn’t say, but he then noticed the warmth he was feeling had grown uncomfortable. He unbuttoned his shirt halfway, trying to cool off, but it only made it worse. The light gleaming off Malfoy’s hair had become blinding, and Harry had to avert his eyes. He then saw that he wasn’t in the eighth year Common Room, but the Room of Requirement. Discarded treasures acquired by generations of students littered the floor. 

Discarded treasures that were catching fire before his eyes. 

Harry turned to yell at Malfoy that they needed to get out, but Malfoy was gone, Harry turned around, unsuccessfully trying to catch a glimpse of him. He screamed Malfoy’s name and dug through piles of burning objects trying to find him. It was only when his throat was raw from yelling and his hands painfully blistered that he finally spotted him. More specifically, spotted his arm, reaching out from one of the piles. Harry tore through the fires, not caring that his clothes were rapidly getting caught by the flames. Nothing else mattered but getting to Malfoy. He somehow knew that if he gripped his hand this would all go away, and they would be safe in the Common Room again. 

Finally he got to the burning pile he knew contained Malfoy. He reached out with relief, ready to grab his hand, but when he gripped it something was off. He looked down and saw the hand he held was black and withered, burned to a crisp. He didn’t move, frozen in his horror as he watched the hand disintegrate before his eyes. When the hand was nothing but ash in his hands, he began screaming again, frantically looking for a broom, a window, anything to get him out of this burning hell. 

He woke up coughing, his hand on his chest and heart hammering in his ears. It took a moment for the coughing to subside, but when it did he realized his throat felt raw. He vaguely wondered if he’d been screaming, still half asleep. 

He reached out of his bed hangings to grab his wand and did a quick scan of the room. No one seemed to be awake. He breathed a quiet sigh of relief, happy to have not disturbed anyone. He conjured up a ceramic cup and whispered a quick aguamenti. The cup filled and he sipped it, trying to ease the throbbing of his throat. 

This was the first nightmare he’d had since the summer, he reflected. After the war, his nightmares had been frequent and violent. He’d resorted to taking a Sleeping Draught every night to keep his sleep cycle normal. Without it, he’d been waking up every two hours in a cold sweat. 

Hermione had disapproved. The constant potions put Harry in what he called a funk and what Hermione called depression. He’d felt like his days and nights were running together, linked with a total apathy for everything in his life. Harry didn’t know if that was him being depressed or just a normal reaction after going through a war, but to make her stop talking, he stopped using Sleeping Draughts in late August. To his surprise, the nightmares had stopped, though the apathy remained. He initially worried he would need to start taking them again when he returned to school, surrounded by remnants of the past, but the nightmares had stayed away. Until now. 

Harry vanished his cup and closed his eyes, hoping the next time he opened them would be morning. 

No such luck. 

He was back in the Room of Requirement, but this time it was Crabbe being engulfed in flames while Harry watched on. He couldn’t move; he was petrified under his invisibility cloak, and suddenly he was watching Dumbledore’s graceful fall off the tower. Malfoy and Snape watched him for a second before turning their wands on Harry. 

He woke this time feeling like the curtains surrounding his four-poster bed were closing in on him. He forced himself to breathe steadily and closed his eyes, trying to relax. But the darkness only brought back memories of Crabbe burning in the Room. He threw the covers off and went for a walk. 

***  
“Just the one draught, correct?” Madame Pomfrey asked. 

Harry nodded, but the Matron still looked suspicious. 

“You haven’t been drinking them regularly, have you? Sleeping potions can be highly addictive when not used properly.” 

Harry winced, uncomfortable with how perceptive she was. He considered being honest, but the thought of another nightmare pushed that idea out of his head. 

“Not regularly, no. It’s nothing really, just nervous about a Potions practical tomorrow,” he lied. “I know it’s late, but I really want to make sure I have the best night sleep I can before tomorrow. I didn’t expect to be this nervous, sorry. Won’t happen again, one-time thing.” 

He hoped his voice came across as self-assured and not desperate. Based on the look she gave him, he wasn’t as convincing as he’d hoped, but she conjured a vial and went into a room behind her Harry had never been in. When she returned, the vial was filled with a light blue liquid he recognized from many sleepless nights. He smiled gratefully, but when he reached out to grab it, Pomfrey pulled her hand away. 

“Not so fast, Mr. Potter,” she said. Harry stood still, the poster child of patience. He didn’t want to look to eager, didn’t want to do anything that would risk Madame Pomfrey from withholding the potion. 

She was giving him a very Dumbledore-esque look, analyzing him with a ferocity that made Harry scramble to remember any hint of Occlumency from his short-lived sessions with Snape. 

“You know, we have added some mind healers to the staff,” she said quietly. Harry sighed, not wanting to have this conversation again. 

“Yeah, Hermione mentioned that to me a few times,” he said. 

“Do you think you could benefit from speaking to them? There are a lot of eighth years utilizing their services. They can be very helpful, especially for students who fought,” she said gently. 

Not wanting to go to the mind healer, but also not wanting Madame Pomfrey to deny him the potion, Harry tried to be as vague as possible. 

“Yeah, I’ve been thinking about that. Could be good for me, I may go soon. Just need to see if I can work it in my schedule,” he said, hoping Madame Pomfrey wouldn’t try and be any more helpful. He didn’t think he could handle it if she tried to set up an appointment for him at two in the morning when they were both in their slippers. 

Luckily, she gave him the benefit of the doubt. 

“Well, if you ever need help with anything, please do not hesitate to come to me. We are all here for you students,” she said, handing over the bottle. 

Harry nodded and thanked her, walking quickly out of the room towards the dormitory where he knew a restful rest of the night awaited him. 

***  
He knew he must look exhausted by the look on Hermione’s face when he sat down for breakfast. Not wanting to get into it, he immediately asked her if she had made any progress on her legislative proposal for House Elf rights that she’d mentioned at their current event session on Tuesday. Her eyes lit up, and she began talking animatedly. Harry knew he wouldn’t have to respond for at least five minutes. Ron still looked concerned though, raising his eyebrows at Harry’s behavior. Harry shrugged in a way that said 'we’ll talk about it later'. 

He went through classes that day in a haze. He found himself thinking how lucky it was that he wasn’t taking History of Magic this term because he would surely have fell asleep when subjected to Binns’ monotonous drone. He’d decided to only take half of the Sleeping Draught in case the nightmares returned, and he hadn’t slept as deeply as he would have with the whole vial. He desperately hoped they had been a one-night thing. Something about Pomfrey’s face had told him he may not be getting any more potions from her. 

Ron came up to him that evening in the Common Room with a scheme Harry was only half paying attention to, something about pranking Slytherin seventh years. Hermione joined halfway through their one-sided conversation to tell Ron she would report him if he broke any rules and lectured him on the importance of house unity for the umpteenth time. 

Harry wasn’t listening, instead, he was replaying the nightmares from the night before in his head. The Room of Requirement. Fire. Malfoy and Crabbe burned to a crisp. Dumbledore falling off the tower, Malfoy and Snape turning on him. What did it mean? And why did his nightmares choose now to return? He rubbed his temples, suddenly unable to keep his eyes open. 

“Think I’m going to go to bed,” he mumbled, half expecting Ron and Hermione to not hear him. 

But they did hear him and stopped arguing. Ron checked his watch and looked at Harry with concern.

“It’s only 7:45 mate. Don’t you have rounds tonight?” 

Harry shrugged, totally unconcerned with anything that wasn’t his bed. He would send McGonagall an owl to let her know he wasn’t feeling well. Surely she would understand. 

Not responding to Ron’s question, he gave his friends a nod and left. 

He fell with relief into his four-poster bed. He turned to write McGonagall a quick note explaining his absence when it occurred to him that he no longer had an owl to send it. Feeling a dull pang that he associated with remembering someone who was gone, he decided to send her a patronus message instead. 

Once his stag left the room, he took off his glasses and sat them next to the vial of Sleeping Draught he fervently hoped he wouldn’t have to use before closing his eyes.


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a shorter chapter, but full of some good developments (at least I think so!!). Hope everyone enjoys. 
> 
> As always - I love feedback so comment away! It's snowing here, hope everyone is well.

It turned out that for the moment Harry didn’t need the Sleeping Draught, but not for the reasons he’d hoped. He wasn’t woken by a horrific nightmare or by the light of morning, but by his bed hangings being aggressively ripped open. He was jolted out of the beginnings of sleep by the sound. He sat bolt upright, startled, and when he saw the hazy face of Draco Malfoy, he was convinced for a moment he was still dreaming. 

Just for a moment, however, because then Malfoy was throwing Harry’s hastily discarded robe onto his bed and levitating his socks on top of it. His arms were crossed, and he looked furious.

“What –” Harry started, but he was very quickly interrupted. 

“Let’s go, Potter, I haven’t got all night. First years could be getting into all types of trouble – wandering the corridors, midnight duels and whatnot,” he said. Harry ignored the pointed remark at their own attempted nighttime duel in the first year. 

“I – no I told McGonagall – ”

“That you weren’t feeling well, needed an early night’s sleep, couldn’t make it to the rounds, yes Potter, she told me,” he said. He now held Harry’s glasses, dangling them between his thumb and index finger. 

Harry sat up, more awake now. 

“If she told you, then what are you doing here?” he asked, suddenly angry at the intrusion. “I said I needed more sleep and – ”

“Don’t waste your breath on excuses, you and I both know you would have been up in two hours screaming,” he scoffed. Harry froze. 

“Screaming?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper. Malfoy rolled his eyes. 

“Yes, screaming. From a nightmare no doubt. So you can either go to sleep now and wake up every two hours screaming, or you can go do rounds with me and then wake up every two hours screaming. Regardless you’ll be up every two hours, but the difference is if you come do rounds, I won’t hex you when you wake up. Get it?” 

Harry’s brain was just now fully registering what Malfoy was saying. Had he woken everyone up last night and the rest of the boys were just too polite to say anything? He considered brushing off the encounter and telling Malfoy to piss off, but his curiosity won out. 

“What do you know about the nightmares?” 

Malfoy returned his question with his trademark smirk, though it seemed a bit forced to Harry. 

“Come do rounds and I’ll tell you.” 

Twenty minutes later, they were on the third floor, walking a healthy distance apart and each monitoring one side of the hallway. Everything was quiet which wasn’t surprising. They hadn’t had to deal with anything beyond a wayward student or two thus far. Harry felt like it was their first night again. He was uncomfortable and didn’t know what to say. Their newfound routine conversations surrounding potions concepts didn’t fit the mood Malfoy had created when he’d mentioned nightmares. 

Could it have been a coincidence? Was it possible Malfoy was just saying things to get under Harry’s skin? It wouldn’t have been the first time. But his comment about being up every two hours… and the day after Harry had started having nightmares again. Malfoy clearly knew something, but Harry didn’t know how to bring it up. He wanted to sound offhand, like this wasn’t a normal thing. He didn’t want Malfoy to know how the nightmares had plagued him over the summer. 

And he definitely didn’t want him to know that he had been a focal point in Harry’s dreams, bad or otherwise. 

Harry cleared his throat, still awkward but deciding to go to their default. 

“So, uh, I was reading about how a powdered ingredient is much more concentrated than a non-powdered – ” he began. 

“Cut the shit, Potter,” Malfoy interrupted. He had stopped walking. Harry paused with him and turned. Malfoy had his arms crossed and looked irritated for a reason Harry didn’t understand. 

“What’s wrong?” Harry asked with genuine confusion. 

“You want to know what I know about your nightmares. Cut the study buddy act and just ask the damn question.” 

Harry was surprised to find he was slightly hurt. Was this really how Malfoy saw him? As someone who didn’t see the people around him as anything other than a means to an end? Slytherin mentality, he reminded himself. Of course the house that prides itself on individuality and ambition assumes everyone has their own priorities in mind first and foremost. He was never more certain than then that he really did belong in Gryffindor. 

How would he ever explain to Malfoy that he really did want to put their old issues to rest and move on? He could barely explain it to himself. 

Putting that issue aside for later, he said, “Alright then. What do you know?” 

Malfoy sighed and walked over to Harry’s side of the hallway. He leaned on the wall and recrossed his arms. Harry mimicked the motion without noticing. When Malfoy saw Harry’s arms crossed as well, he scowled and uncrossed his. 

Harry waited, expecting the worst, but Malfoy didn’t say anything. He was looking at the ground. 

“Look, I’m sorry if I woke you up. I don’t – ” Harry said to fill the silence that had been growing increasingly awkward. Malfoy stopped him. 

“You didn’t wake me up. I wasn’t asleep.” 

His eyes were still focused on the ground. Harry waited again, this time promising himself he wouldn’t be the one to break the silence. Finally, Malfoy exhaled and looked up at the ceiling. 

“And you weren’t yelling either. Just mumbling. But it was… I could tell it wasn’t good,” he said, still avoiding Harry’s eyes. 

Harry’s instinct was to deflect, to tell Malfoy he never got nightmares and the night before had been an anomaly. He wanted so badly to assure Malfoy and himself that there wouldn’t be any more frantic muttering coming from his side of the room in the middle of the night. 

But then he looked at Malfoy’s body language, how he was avoiding Harry’s eyes. He noticed how Malfoy leaning against the wall was an attempt at casualness that his hunched shoulders and balled up hands clearly didn’t feel. He reminded himself that he hadn’t woken Malfoy; he had already been awake.

And then he wondered if maybe Malfoy had nightmares too. 

“Do you think anyone else heard?” he asked. Malfoy shook his head. 

“It was three in the morning. I don’t think anyone else was up.”

“Why were you?” 

He didn’t answer right away, taking his eyes off the ceiling and examining his cuticles. But when he finally did answer, Harry was surprised with the candor. 

“I don’t sleep very well,” he admitted, and Harry was perceptive enough to read that for what it really was. He wondered what dark images infested Malfoy’s mind when he slept. 

“You know Madame Pomfrey has Sleeping Draught, right?” Harry asked. 

Malfoy’s admission of unpleasant dreams made him seem less like the aloof image he tried to portray and more like a fragile person dealing with the aftermath of a difficult conflict. 

Malfoy shook his head.

“She’s not giving it out quite as often as I would like,” he said. 

So Harry wasn’t the only student being denied sleeping potions. He sighed and wondered how exactly he was going to get through the semester without a steady supply now that his night terrors had returned. 

But then he looked at Malfoy. He saw his robe sleeves were rolled up like they always were when he was working in Potions class. He noted a small stain on the sleeve that looked like it could have come from the Forgetfulness Draught they had been started working on earlier that day. And, he reminded himself, Malfoy was one of the best Potions students in the year. 

“I have an idea,” Harry said. 

Malfoy raised an eyebrow, but still deigned to follow him when Harry motioned. They abandoned their rounds and headed for the dungeons.


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry sorry sorry, I know this chapter is late and not very long. I hope you like it anyways. 
> 
> BIG NOTE PLS READ - I will not be updating until the new year so expect chapters to resume on Sunday the 3rd. After that, I'm going back to doing one longer chapter a week, every Sunday. We all good? Everyone know what's up? OKAY BREAK!
> 
> I love you all; thank you everyone who reads it really means a lot to me.

“Lumos,” Harry whispered. Malfoy raised an eyebrow and snorted, flicking his wand so it wordlessly lit up. Suddenly embarrassed, Harry made a mental note to get some tips from Hermione on nonverbal magic. 

The two of them silently crept along the walls of the Potions storeroom. They’d muffled their footsteps but were still cautions of every sound they made. Even though Harry was Slughorn’s favorite, he was certain there would still be consequences for being caught stealing from the Potions storeroom. 

Malfoy had been hesitant at first. Harry didn’t blame him. The consequences for getting in trouble were much higher in his case. If they were caught, Harry would likely get a few months detention at worst. Per the conditions of his probation, Malfoy could be expelled. Harry had felt guilty for involving him at first, but there was no one else he could trust with the reason he wanted to brew the Sleeping Draught. 

But Malfoy had ended up agreeing after, Harry suspected, thinking of the benefits it offered him. The dark circles under his eyes hadn’t escaped Harry’s notice, and based on Malfoy’s reaction when they were talking earlier, Harry knew he needed the potion too. 

Which brought them to Slughorn’s storeroom on their knees staring at dusty vials for the correct ingredients. They’d initially considered just telling Slughorn they wanted to make Sleeping Draught for a project, but worried he would mention it to the staff and word would get back to Madame Pomfrey. 

“Found the newt eye,” Malfoy muttered. He conjured up a vial and dropped a few eyes into it. Harry briefly considered making replacement eyes but dropped the idea quickly as he knew they would have disappeared by morning. His conjuring skills weren’t as strong as Dumbledore’s, who had been known to once make a chair last four months in his office after saying he couldn’t bear to part with it. Harry smiled at the memory before refocusing on the task at hand. 

After about twenty minutes they’d found everything but one ingredient. The container that usually held spider’s silk was empty. Harry gave Malfoy a questioning look, but he shook his head in a gesture that clearly meant ‘we’ll talk later’. Shrugging, Harry jerked his head toward the door. Malfoy nodded, and they snuck back out they way they came. 

Harry quickly directed them into a secret passageway hidden behind a tapestry. Malfoy raised an eyebrow, but followed. The passage spat them out on the fourth floor where they resumed patrol as if nothing had happened. Only then did they start talking again. 

“So where can we get spider silk then?” Harry asked. Malfoy made a face. 

“Well. We can order it from Diagon Alley.” 

His tone made it clear there was more. 

“But?” Harry prompted. 

“But, it would likely take an upwards of six weeks. Spider silk is incredibly rare and can be dangerous to obtain. And rarely used in potions which is no doubt why that incompetent Potions Master has let his stores wear out. I can only think of two potions it’s used for and neither of them are usually brewed by students. Pomfrey gets all of hers directly from St. Mungos where they have a room full of spiders that make the silk just for that. The only domesticated group in Europe” he said. 

“How do you know all that?” Harry asked. “About St. Mungos, I mean.” 

Surprisingly, Malfoy’s cheeks had turned pink. He mumbled something about being forced to choose a path. 

“What, for your career appointment?” Harry asked. Malfoy was getting redder. 

“Yes, Potter, all right? I had to pick something since apparently Death Eater is not a viable career option, and I thought healing sounded better than some of the other options, so I spoke to Pomfrey. Happy now?” 

He turned and stalked towards the end of the hall. Harry jogged briefly to catch up. 

“I don’t care that you want to be a healer, you know,” he said. Malfoy didn’t answer. 

“Actually it’s cool you’ve already picked a career. Ron ‘n me were going to be aurors but I’m not certain anymore. Gillenwater thinks – ” he started. 

Malfoy cut him off. 

“You’re not going to be an auror?” he asked incredulously. Harry shook his head. 

“Nah. Don’t really think it suits me.”

“Let me get this straight. You, Potter, the Chosen One who singlehandedly defeated the most notorious wizard of a generation, you don’t want to be an auror?”

“Well Ron and Hermione helped,” he said. Malfoy looked bewildered. 

“What?” 

“You said singlehandedly,” Harry said. “It wasn’t like that. I wouldn’t have made it five days without Ron and Hermione. I didn’t defeat him on my own. Not even close.” 

Malfoy shook his head, and the two of them started heading for the Entrance Hall. The clock had just struck ten. 

“I figured you’d be an auror,” Malfoy said offhandedly. “Seemed the logical choice. You already fought one dark wizard, why not make a career out of it?” 

“Dunno,” Harry said. “I always thought I’d be one too, but this summer it just… just didn’t feel like me anymore. I pictured myself as an auror and it didn’t seem right, like I was inserting myself into a life I didn’t really want.” 

“I know what that’s like,” Malfoy said quietly. 

They were quiet the rest of the way to the cottage, each absorbed in their own thoughts. Before getting into bed Harry grabbed the sleeping potion on impulse. He conjured up a vial and poured half of what was left into it and went over to the bathroom where Malfoy was brushing his teeth. 

“Here,” Harry said, offering the vial. Malfoy looked surprised but pleased. He made as if to take the potion but stopped himself. An ugly look came over his face and he pulled back, reverting to his trademark sneer. 

“Keep your precious potion, Potter. I don’t need your handouts.”

He walked out of the bathroom, leaving Harry standing barefoot in his pajamas, holding the vial and feeling distinctly out of place.


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello there. Remember three days ago when I said no new stuff till next week. Well surprise! I got on a writing kick and have a really good chapter for y'all! Still sticking with the once a week chapter thing though. Will be updating every Sunday. 
> 
> So expect new content on Jan 3rd!

It was a struggle to keep his eyes open long enough to stab a bit of his eggs on his fork. Harry’s eyes kept wanting to close and it took all his efforts to stay awake. 

He’d ended up not taking the sleeping potion the night before. At the time his mind had been clear – if Malfoy didn’t need it, neither did he. He’d meant to prove something no doubt, to Malfoy or himself he wasn’t sure, but his motives were hazy now and all Harry wished was that he’d swallowed his pride and drank the damn potion. Hermione was looking at him with concern. 

“Are you all right?” she asked. “You don’t look like you slept much.” 

Which was honestly an understatement. Harry would be surprised if he’d been asleep for more than an hour. His nightmares, always revolving around Malfoy, had kept him from falling into a deep sleep. By his third time waking up – 2 am, he’d checked – he gave up and accepted a sleepless night. He reread _Quidditch Through the Ages_ until the sun came up and then threw on his robes and went for a walk around the castle grounds. It was chilly outside despite still being September. Harry had found himself excited for October – Hagrid’s giant pumpkins, the candle lit feasts. He thought vaguely of the muggle Halloween tradition of dressing up and wondered why wizards did not do the same. He decided to ask Hermione later. 

When he made his way into the Great Hall, most of the tables were empty. There were no other eighth years awake yet, and only a handful of students at the other tables. They all looked up when he entered and followed him with their eyes until he sat down. Harry felt the eyes on him more strongly than when he was in a crowd. He was reminded why he didn’t like to go in public alone. 

The platters that typically held eggs and bacon hadn’t appeared yet, but there was a sizeable collection of breakfast pastries to choose from. He grabbed a croissant without really thinking about it, and put his head down, hoping the eyes on him would look back to where they had been before he had arrived. 

When Hermione and Ron finally came in he was on his third croissant. He was rather pleased with himself, even if eating had only been the result of wanting to do something with his hands. Hermione had noticed his sleeplessness immediately, of course. 

He brushed off her inquiries to how he slept, and instead asked – 

“Why don’t wizards celebrate Halloween, ‘Mione?” 

She gave him a strange look.

“Harry, you’ve been going to Halloween feasts since the first year. What do you mean?” 

“Don’t celebrate with costumes, I mean,” he clarified. “Like the muggles do, you know, dressing up and asking for candy.”

Hermione looked thoughtful. 

“Well, probably because on Halloween witches and wizards traditionally performed rituals designed to help boost their magical energy for the year. Halloween has historically been a serious holiday for us, but in the past hundred years or so there has been more overlap between the magic and non-magic worlds. We’ve adopted some of their customs like carving pumpkins, but I suppose the costumes haven’t become part of our culture yet,” she said. 

“Interesting tradition,” Cho said, taking a seat on Hermione’s left. “Why do they dress up anyway? To scare away the ghosts? To pretend to be magical? Some type of faux transfiguration?” 

“I don’t think it needs to be analyzed like that,” Hermione said. “When I was a kid, we just dressed up because it was fun.”

“Well I like the costumes,” Ron said through a mouthful of bacon, which had finally appeared on the table. “I’d dress up like McGonagall. It’d be easy, just go to the nearest used store and ask for their most dour dress. Then throw on some cat ears. Hell, I’d look just like her. Now I just need to practice her trademark – ”

And he made a face that looked so similar to McGonagall’s frown when she caught students doing something they weren’t supposed to that Hermione spilled her milk from laughing so hard. 

After vanishing it, she turned to Harry and said, 

“We should do a Halloween party! It could be after the feast, and we could all dress up.” 

Cho grinned. 

“Dibs on dressing up as Filch,” she said. 

“If you’re dressing up as Filch, I want to dress up as Mrs. Norris,” Terry, who had just sat down, said. “By the way, what are we talking about?” 

Cho laughed. 

“Halloween,” she said. “Muggles dress up for it. Harry thought it would be fun if we did too.”

“I didn’t say that,” Harry mumbled, suddenly embarrassed for no reason. “I just asked ‘Mione why we don’t celebrate like they do, that’s all.” 

“Well anything that lets me dress up like a decrepit cat is good in my book,” Terry said. “Are we going to do it?” 

“I can make drinks!” Ron said. “Fred and George gave me a recipe for a firewhisky punch before they left school, something about “passing on their legacy”. Haven’t had a chance to use it until now.”   
“What’s in it?” Hermione asked suspiciously, no doubt thinking of the puking pastilles. Ron laughed. 

“Well mostly just firewhisky, but I think there’s a bit of cream soda in there too. There’s some kind of spell you cast on it though that makes it taste less like pure firewhisky and more like something you could drink for hours on end,” he said. Hermione still looked skeptical. 

“That sells it. I’m in,” Ernie, who Harry didn’t even know was listening, said. 

“What do you think, Harry?” Hermione asked in a quiet voice. Ron and Ernie were already having an animated discussion about Ron’s drink choices, and Cho and Terry were discussing the logistics of their costumes. 

Harry shrugged. Truthfully, he hadn’t had any plans in mind when he’d asked Hermione about the costumes. But everyone seemed so excited about the idea of a party, that he saw no reason to say anything against it. 

“Sounds fun. Suppose I’ll have to start thinking up a costume,” he said. Hermione smiled. 

“I’m sure we can come up with something.”

***

The next few days passed in a haze. The Sleeping Draught sat unused on Harry’s bedside and he continued through his sleepless nights. He’d taken to using muffliato on his bed curtains in hopes it would conceal any sounds he made. The last thing he needed was for the rest of his bunkmates to find out he wasn’t sleeping. Malfoy knowing was enough. 

After their uncomfortable encounter in the bathroom, Harry worried their rounds may get awkward or Malfoy would back out of making the Sleeping Draught with him. Neither happened. Malfoy seemed content to pretend the incident never happened and let things continue how they had been going, somewhere in between indifference and casual acquaintances. 

The potion was on hold, however, until they could get their hands on some spider silk. Malfoy had said he had a few contacts he thought could get them some quicker than the wait time from Diagon Alley. As for who his contacts were affiliated with, Harry didn’t ask. 

His schoolwork was suffering, he knew that. He hadn’t been able to focus in any of his classes since the nightmares had started and he was becoming increasingly paranoid. Voldemort was present in his dreams as often, if not more, than Malfoy, torturing his friends and watching him with his cold, red eyes. Had there been some way that Voldemort had returned? The ‘Malfoy-obsessed’ part of him, as Hermione would call it, had to wonder at the coincidence that as soon as he and Malfoy had started speaking more, the nightmares had resumed. Was Malfoy somehow connected? 

He was finally able to get a few hours of uninterrupted sleep after classes ended on Friday, due, he was sure, to his current state of exhaustion. It was beyond anything he had experienced before. He didn’t want to calculate it, but he would be surprised if he’d gotten more than two hours a night. He knew he couldn’t keep going like this. 

Yet the vial remained on his nightstand. 

Every night he wanted to use it, would pick it up, but then he would look over at Malfoy’s bed, and return the vial to its place. His thoughts from the morning would vanish and his previous convictions return: If Malfoy didn’t need it, neither did he. 

He was irritated, he supposed, by Malfoy’s refusal of his gift. Harry didn’t understand. They had just bonded over their shared inability to sleep. Harry had thought this would make Malfoy more inclined to like him, but his reaction had been so opposite of what he had expected. 

He eventually chalked it up to Malfoy’s independent streak. He didn’t want to rely on anyone for anything – self reliant almost to a fault. Which would explain why he was fine making a Sleeping Draught to use, but not accepting it as a handout from anyone else. 

Strange, Harry thought, before remembering that he too was refusing to drink the potion. 

That night Ron was adamant that Harry join them in town despite his excuses of exhaustion. Harry was about to say he hadn’t slept for multiple days, but he caught himself. Ron had no idea, and Harry knew if he told him, Ron would tell Hermione. 

“– fun,” Ron was saying. “Everyone’s coming, even Zabini, asked him yesterday. You know, he’s actually a decent bloke, not like Malfoy or Crabbe, I reckon being in the Slytherin common room rubbed off on him, but once you get to know him he’s not so bad.” 

The mention of Zabini and Malfoy reminded Harry of his promise to himself, to invite Malfoy to go out with all of them. He cringed at the thought after hearing Ron so casually lump Malfoy in with what he considered ‘bad Slytherins’. 

It occurred to him then that he hadn’t mentioned to Ron or Hermione his newfound common ground with Malfoy. They had only been back at school for two weeks, but it felt like much longer. His perception of the other boy had shifted; he didn’t feel the same way he had when he’d arrived. 

Of course, he didn’t know exactly _what_ he felt sometimes. Malfoy was still infuriating and a prick, but Harry didn’t really hate him anymore. He was irritated by him, but there wasn’t any malice in his reactions anymore. They were acquaintances, fellow potioneers, occasional accomplices in late night theft. But not enemies. 

So he said, “I was thinking of asking Malfoy to come with too.” 

Ron’s response was not unexpected. He was silent, but the shock was written clearly on his face. Rather than wait for a response, Harry hurried to explain. 

“Kind of like Zabini, I don’t really think Malfoy is all that bad. Well, irritating, yes, but not evil, anyways. I, er, think maybe having him come along would help the inter-house unity or whatever McGonagall was talking about,” he said. 

Ron remained silent for a moment before saying, “Whatever, mate, but I’m not babysitting him. If you invite him, you’re going to have to entertain him. Don’t expect me and ‘Mione to chat it up with the ferret.” 

Ron grinned, and Harry knew everything was okay. He released a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. Now all he had to do was convince Malfoy to come with them. 

Which, he thought, would likely be much more difficult than getting Ron’s acquiescence had been. 

***  
“Absolutely not.” 

His initial reaction was not a surprise. Harry had expected pushback. 

“Come on. Zabini is going.”

“Just because Zabini is making a poor life choice does not mean I will follow him,” Malfoy said. 

“Why not? It was fun last weekend,” Harry said. 

“Potter,” Malfoy said, slowly like he was speaking to a child, “You and I have come to an agreement of sorts, but the others…” 

Harry waited for him to continue. Malfoy took a breath. 

“They don’t like me. They see me as the enemy, as the reason Dumbledore is dead, as a crazed Dark Lord fanatic. They don’t want me there.” 

Harry was surprised. He’d expected Malfoy to claim he was too good for their gathering and say something about how the alcohol served was too cheap for his taste. This was much more than he’d expected. 

“Well,” Harry said, “I wasn’t sure what you’d be like when I came back to school. But here we are. Having a conversation without insulting each other. Maybe if you come out tonight, they’ll realize you aren’t those things.” 

“But what if I am?” Malfoy asked. 

“You aren’t,” Harry said firmly. 

And he wasn’t, Harry thought. He knew he wasn’t. Irritating, but not evil. An important distinction. 

Malfoy was quiet for a while, so long that Harry almost gave up and left him standing there, but finally he responded. 

“All right. But this isn’t because I think it’s going to be fun! In fact, I fully anticipate leaving within the first hour. We’re going to the Hog’s Head you said? Certainly the wine will be of a poor quality.” 

Harry rolled his eyes and smiled to himself, preparing for the evening ahead.


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all; happy new year! 
> 
> Hope y'all enjoy the chapter! As I said last week, I'll be starting a once weekly update - every Sunday EST (though tbh it's usually super late Saturday night into Sunday morning.) The chapters will be a lot longer though than when I was updating twice weekly. 
> 
> Your comments mean everything. I read them all and adore them. Hope everyone is well!

Malfoy looked distinctly out of place. He had on a black turtleneck and dark olive canvas pants that contrasted his pale features and made him look fairly regal. Harry looked down at his own worn denim jeans and red flannel, one of Fred’s old ones that he’d borrowed from Ron and never returned, suddenly self-conscious.

He could tell Malfoy was uncomfortable by the way he was tapping his index finger on his glass – a vodka soda that he hadn’t touched. Harry, already on his third round, was beginning to think he was just using it as a prop. 

Malfoy was sitting across from Harry. Ron was on Malfoy’s left, but he was keeping his promise of not entertaining him. Harry wasn’t much company for Malfoy either. He felt a bit bad for ignoring him, but Hannah was sitting by him, his thigh was pressed against hers. She was holding his hand under the table and kept stroking his hand with her thumb. She was in high spirits tonight, smiling often and laughing louder than anyone. 

Malfoy excused himself to use the restroom right as Hannah was reaching the best part of her story about stealing mandrakes from Sprout to put in the Hufflepuff boy’s dormitory. He didn’t come back until after they were on the next round and Hannah’s story had long since passed. His glass was sweating, making a ring on the already heavily stained wooden table. His face was strained, and Harry took pity on him. He took his hand out of Hannah’s and leaned across the table. 

“Want to step outside?” 

Malfoy looked surprised but nodded. After assuring Hannah he would be back in a moment, the two of them stepped outside the bar. Malfoy leaned back on the worn brick wall, and Harry followed suit. 

“You don’t have to do that, you know,” Malfoy said without looking at him. “This, I mean. Entertain me. I’m doing fine on my own. You can go back inside and listen to Abbott tell whatever story she’s telling.” 

There was an irritation in his tone Harry couldn’t quite place. He tried to discern its origin but was distracted when Malfoy pulled a cigarette box out from one of the pockets in his canvas pants. He flicked his hand, and a flame appeared at the top of his index finger. He gingerly lit the cigarette with it and waved his hand again, extinguishing it. 

_Wandless magic._ Harry was impressed. He said, 

“I didn’t know you smoked.” 

But what he meant to say was,

_'How did you do that? Teach me.'_

Malfoy shrugged. 

“Bad habit,” he said by way of explanation. 

“Why aren’t you drinking?” Harry asked. “Is the alcohol selection really that bad?”

Malfoy snorted.

“While I’m certain the options are horrible here, no that isn’t the problem.” 

“So,” Harry pressed, “What is?”

Malfoy sighed and pressed his fingers to his temple. 

“I sense you aren’t going to drop this.” He paused, and then continued. “If you must know, I likely wouldn’t drink even if we were at a more… reputable bar.”

They stood in silence for a moment, until Harry plucked up the courage to ask,

“Do you not drink?” 

Malfoy stood up a bit straighter and pointed his chin out in defiance, suddenly on the defensive. 

“Is that some sort of problem, Potter?” His tone had more acid than Harry had expected. He put both of his hands up in a gesture of supplication in hopes it would ease Malfoy’s nerves. 

“No, no, really I couldn’t care less. Just not sure why you bought a drink if you weren’t planning to drink it.”

“Didn’t want the questions,” he said. “Although you ruined that. Clearly.” 

After a pause, he added, 

“I – er, didn’t really expect you to notice.”

Harry watched thin tendrils of smoke drift in the air. He asked, 

“Why not? Er – I mean, why don’t you drink, not why didn’t you expect me to notice.”

Because Harry knew the answer to that. Malfoy exhaled sharply and the smoke drifted into the sky, this time in a harsh cloud rather than a lazy thin stream. 

“Not really my thing. I have other vices.” 

Harry wanted to ask more but felt uncomfortable breaching the subject. He could sense they were on thin ice. The rules of their new relationship were still being established, and Malfoy opening up too much may cause a crack in their fragile peace.

So instead, he just nodded and stood by the other boy while he finished his cigarette which dangled elegantly from his slightly curved mouth. 

When he was finished, he vanished the cigarette butt and inclined his head to Harry. 

“I think it best if I leave,” he said. 

Harry scrambled, feeling the need to say something. 

“I’m sorry; I wouldn’t have asked you to come out if I knew you didn’t drink,” he said. 

“You shouldn’t have asked me,” Malfoy agreed, “But not because I don’t drink.” 

Before Harry could ask for clarification, Malfoy turned on the spot and disapparated. Harry lingered for a moment, inhaling the scent of cigarette smoke that still hung in the air, before returning inside to his seat by Hannah. 

She turned to him and smiled. She flung her arms around him in a hug, and when they broke apart one of her arms remained around his shoulders.

“You’re back!” she said a bit too loudly. “Did Malfoy finally leave? Thank goodness – he is rather dismal, isn’t he?”

Her comment rubbed him the wrong way even though she was right. Malfoy had been without a doubt in a sour mood since they had arrived. He hadn’t spoken a word to anyone and didn’t even try and feign interest in the conversation. It was like he wasn’t there, except for the uncomfortable energy he brought to the table. Even Zabini was contributing to the discussion. He’d told a story about the time he’d dared Pansy Parkinson to steal Snape’s schedule book. For a week, they’d shown up hidden at every place on the list and transfigured the surroundings into raccoons which, Zabini claimed, were Snape’s greatest fear.

But Malfoy remained stoic, and the awkwardness extended to the rest of the group. Still, Harry didn’t like Hannah’s comment, though he nodded in agreement with it. He was too tipsy to ponder his reasons for that, and besides, Hannah’s hand was slowly making its way up his thigh and his mind was wiped of any thoughts of Draco Malfoy. 

***

Hannah wanted to stay with him that night, Harry could tell, but he found himself anxiously wondering where Malfoy had apparated off too and if he would be spending the night in the dormitory. He liked Hannah, but he could see Malfoy’s knowing smirk if he let her stay. It was all so clear. Malfoy would raise an eyebrow as Hannah stumbled out of his bed. She would kiss him, and Malfoy wouldn’t look away, trying to make Harry as uncomfortable as possible. Then when she was gone, Malfoy would ask him sneeringly how his night was, and imply his sleeplessness had little to do with nightmares. 

So he told Hannah he was too drunk but promised they would spend the day together tomorrow. She smiled, a bit disappointed but altogether understanding, pressed a sloppy kiss to his mouth, and walked away leaving the smell of her vanilla perfume that clashed with the cigarette smoke still lingering in his nostrils. 

Malfoy’s bed hangings were closed tight. Harry sighed and threw on the first thing he put his hands on – an old Holyhead Harpies t-shirt – without bothering to put on proper pajamas or even brush his teeth. He did, however, participate in his new nightly routine of glancing at the half full vial on his bedside table before crawling into bed, casting muffliato, and trying to get some rest. 

***

It turned out, Harry discovered, Sleeping Draught was not the only way that he was able to get a good night’s sleep. Binge drinking seemed to do the trick as well. The alcohol quieted his brain in sleep. There were hazy visions of half formed figures, but nothing concrete. The nightmares were blurry and seemed far away. Harry was able to sleep through them. 

He slept until mid-afternoon. When he finally made his way out of the dorm, he found Hermione in the Common Room wearing a disapproving look. Harry could only hope his excuse of drinking too much would cover up the real reason he had slept for so long. He wasn’t ready to tell her about his sleepless nights. 

Ron, at least, seemed happy to see him. He took his arm from around Hermione’s shoulders to clap Harry on the back and gesture at a plate of roast beef and cheddar sandwiches. 

“Figured you’d be hungry when you finally made your way out of bed. Swiped you a few sandwiches from lunch – I know how much you like roast beef,” Ron said. 

Harry smiled at his best friend gratefully. It occurred to him that he hadn’t eaten since dinner the night before, and his restful night had reinvigorated his appetite. He was hungrier than he could remember being since coming back to school. He devoured the first sandwich in three bites and was quickly on to the second. Ron chuckled. 

“If I’d known you were that hungry, I would have grabbed more,” he said. 

Harry didn’t reply, his mouth too full of roast beef, but managed to make a grunting sound and a haphazard shrug which he hoped communicated that there were no hard feelings. Based on Ron’s expression, he understood. 

Once Harry had made his way through the platter, he turned to examine what Ron and Hermione were working on. He recognized their assigned reading for Herbology and groaned. 

“16 inches on proper growing conditions for mandrakes and how different soil conditions can affect their efficiency in reviving petrified victims?” Harry asked, already knowing the answer. 

Hermione nodded eagerly. 

“You know, I never really found myself engrossed in Herbology like I am in, say, Arithmacy or Transfiguration, but honestly, the course work this year has been fascinating. Did you know that a five-meter difference in altitude can have enormous impact on the mandrakes’ temperament when they’re in their adolescence?” 

Harry didn’t, but knew better than to phrase it like that. Instead he held up a hand. 

“Pause, don’t read anymore. I’ll be right back,” he said, vanishing the empty plate and jogging back to his room to get his materials before he missed anymore of Hermione’s academic wisdom.

They worked through the afternoon and into the early evening. Hannah joined them around four, and for the hour she was with them Harry’s concentration severely lapsed. She was wearing a cream sweater that made her eyes pop, and Harry found himself more focused on trying to make her laugh than on finishing his essay. 

The whole time he kept his eyes out for Malfoy, curious about what he had said the night before and determined to learn more. But he never showed. Where he was hiding out, Harry had no idea. He briefly considered going to look for him before shaking off that idea. He didn’t want to appear too eager to talk to him; that would in all likelihood scare Malfoy off. 

So he continued trudging through his ever-growing mountain of school-work. Finally, after Hannah had departed for dinner, Harry was able to finish the Herbology essay, even though he felt like he hadn’t absorbed any of the information Hermione had been steadily feeding him over the past four hours. Hermione wanted to continue to work into the night, but Harry and Ron decided a break was in order. So while Hermione dove into the Defense practical readings, they started a game of chess. Harry’s skills had improved drastically while they were all living in the tent over the winter, but he was still no match for Ron’s expertise. 

“So,” a voice said just as Harry’s bishop was being taken, “Are we going out again tonight?” 

Hannah, back from dinner, had drawn up a chair next to his and was looking at him questioningly. 

“What do you say, mate?” Ron asked.

Harry could tell by their expressions both of them wanted him to say yes. He still felt hungover from the night before; the sandwiches had done little to ease his nausea. Still, he was riding the high of a good night sleep, and the thought of the nightmares returning made him feel like a pit was opening beneath him with no way out. So he smiled and nodded. 

“Yeah, ‘course.” 

Hermione stayed in, claiming her essay she had just written with them hours before needed revision already. Quite a few eighth years decided to join her, so their group ended up being much smaller than the night before. Harry mostly talked to Hannah and Ron and as the night went on and he got steadily more drunk, mostly just Hannah. The room was spinning, but it was somehow spinning around her. She was in the center, the focal point, the only steady thing in his rapidly blurring vision. 

She was talking loudly, telling story after story in her fantastic husky voice that Harry found intoxicating. He was hanging on every word, though he doubted he would remember any of what she was saying in the morning. 

She had her arm on his arm, then his knee, then his thigh. Then they were out the bar doors, stumbling down the cobblestone path that led up to the castle. Before they could get back to the eighth year dorms, she pushed him against a tree and her lips were on his. She was wild this time, all teeth and grabbing hands, a stark contrast to their kiss last weekend that had been slow and sweet. 

When Hannah pulled back, Harry was as certain as he had been the night before of what she was going to ask. 

But this time he said yes.


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE READ - 
> 
> A lot of you were unhappy with the developments with Hannah in the last chapter, so I wanted to type up a little explanation. 
> 
> Let me reiterate - this is a SLOW BURN FIC. I believe I used the slow burn tag at least three times so you guys would know what you were getting in to. I want the relationship dynamics in this fic to feel organic. Harry and Draco were mortal enemies for SEVEN YEARS. They are not going to get together overnight. 
> 
> I also want to point out that chronologically we are only on week three of the school year. I write at a slow pace. I enjoy including lots of details and side plots. As I said, I want to make the relationships feel natural. It would not be natural for two people who hated each other for years to become best friends and start a relationship three weeks into the school year. 
> 
> Apologies for not including the Hannah/Harry tag in the fic initially. I honestly didn't plan to make them have a relationship, but it felt very natural as I was writing it. Hannah became a fully formed character and she and Harry get along very well. I should have added the tag as soon as I knew they were going to be a plot point though, so sorry about that. 
> 
> Anyway, long story short, if you're wanting Harry and Draco to get together in the next few chapters I hate to break it to you but it's still going to be a little while. They are still learning to trust each other and become friends. I do plan to include a lot of their dynamic, but things are still in flux for them. The romance is a little ways off. 
> 
> I hope you all continue to read. This is a very ~ moody internal monologue Harry ~ chapter but there are lots of fun Drarry interactions in the next one :)

Harry was trapped. Everything was dark, and he couldn’t find his wand to light up the surroundings. He tried to feel around him, but there was nothing. No walls, no furniture, no other people. His breathing quickened. There had to be _something_. He starting walking quicker, searching frantically for a way out of the pressing darkness. When his outstretched hands continued to find nothing, he broke into a jog, and then a run. 

Nothing, nothing, nothing. He gasped for breath, but there was no air. He fell th the floor, the only thing he could feel, and started pounding, hoping to break the floor and fall into something, anything. 

Then he blinked and his surroundings changed. He was underwater. Under the _lake_ , he realized. He looked down at his hands and they were webbed. He breathed again, but this time through the gills he knew he had. His lungs filled with air. _Better_. 

This was familiar. He had dreamed about the Triwizard Tournament before, usually nightmares about the graveyard, but occasionally about the other tasks as well. He knew what to do next. Swim up to the mermaids, go past them, find Ron, free him, swim to the surface. He’d had this dream a few times before. Once he broke the surface of the lake, he always woke up. 

Up he swam, calm in his certainty of what was to come. The mermaids were the same as always, their homes and spears exactly as Harry remembered them. Everything was as it should be. Soon he would save Ron, breach the surface, and be well on his way to falling back into what he hoped would be dreamless sleep. 

Except it wasn’t Ron tied to the pole. 

It wasn’t his red hair that fanned out in the water, nor his freckled face with eyes closed. Harry looked around him. Everything else was the same. Hermione, Cho, and Gabrielle were tied up, waiting for their rescuers. But Ron was nowhere to be seen. 

Harry turned back to Malfoy’s pale face. He looked more relaxed than Harry had ever seen him. The scowl he often wore was replaced by a mouth that was slightly open and emitted bubbles every few seconds. The crease between his eyes when he furrowed his brow was relaxed and he looked at peace. His blonde hair was puffed around him, and he wore not a Slytherin tie or robes, but a casual pair of jeans and a red hoodie Harry recognized as his own. 

Shaking off his surprise at seeing Malfoy in a spot usually occupied by Ron, he swam back down to the bottom of the lake and grabbed a rock. Despite the change in cast, he assumed the sequence of events would be the same. Save the boy, wake up. He severed the ropes binding Malfoy’s hands and took the other boy gently in his arms, as he had done with Ron, and swam to the surface.  
But when he got his head above water, he didn’t wake up right away as he had before. Malfoy was coughing up water and looking around him, clearly confused. 

“You all right?” Harry asked, unsure of what else to say. 

Malfoy looked at him with a curious expression, as one would look at someone they hadn’t seen in a long time. He didn’t answer, instead he flicked his hand and conjured a cigarette from nowhere which he put into his mouth and lit with another flick. He grinned at Harry and flipped onto his back to float. The thin stream of smoke weaved its way into the sky before dissolving. 

***

Harry woke suddenly, as though from a nightmare even though the dream hadn’t been unpleasant. Hannah was curled at his side, her blonde hair strewn on his bare chest. For a second, she reminded him of another blonde he had just saved from mermaids. She snuggled closer to him, burying her face further into the crook between his neck and shoulder. He suddenly had the strange urge to push her away from him. He resisted, however, not wanting to wake her. 

His sudden disinterest was disappointing, but not unforeseeable. They’d had fun last night. Hannah was bold and sure of herself, a combination Harry had found intoxicating. As could be expected, they’d been up for quite some time after getting in Harry’s bed, but once they were done Harry had wanted to push her away. Not because there was anything wrong with her, but because being around her then had felt strange to him. He was reminded of how he’d felt when he and Ginny had hooked up. It had been fun while they were in the moment, but after the fact Harry always felt uncomfortable and desperate to escape the situation. He hadn’t wanted to talk with her, always worried that she would ask for round two. 

Which, he reflected, any normal person would jump at the chance for. But for some reason he had always felt strange after sleeping with Ginny, vaguely nauseous and somewhat ill. He had always assumed this had something to do with his attraction to Ginny. He loved being around her. She was always in good spirits and knew how to make him laugh. But any physical intimacy with her had felt foreign to him, like a spell he didn’t have the correct wand motion for. 

He thought at the time it had just been Ginny, that he and her hadn’t been right for each other. But now that he was feeling the same way about Hannah, he wondered if he was the problem. For the first time he seriously considered visiting the mind healer like Hermione wanted him to. Maybe his inability to connect on a physical level with the women he slept with had something to do with past trauma. 

He pushed the idea away. Hannah was only the second girl he had slept with. This may not be a pattern, just two isolated incidents. 

He hoped. 

He slept the rest of the night, due no doubt to the lingering effects of his drinking the night before. He woke up at dawn, however, feeling clammy and nauseous. Hannah was still pressed against him, and he didn’t think his nausea was due wholly to his hangover. 

Again, he resisted the urge to push her off him. The lingering smell of her perfume that had been so enticing the night before was now sickly sweet and giving him a headache. Luckily, she started to stir. Harry took advantage of this, slightly nudging her in a way that would wake her without making it obvious Harry was trying to. 

The nudge did it. She took head off of him and propped herself up on her elbow. She gave him a smile that said everything. She’d had fun with him. She didn’t want to leave. She wanted to spend the day with him. 

He didn’t give her a chance to ask. 

“I – er, think I need to have a shower,” he said lamely. 

Hannah raised an eyebrow suggestively. 

“Alone,” Harry clarified. 

She looked surprised and a little hurt. 

“Is everything okay?” she asked. 

He liked Hannah. He didn’t want to hurt her. But he couldn’t tell her the truth because he didn’t understand it himself. So he made himself smile and said, 

“Of course. I just have a lot of schoolwork today that I need to get started on. And I never seem to get any work done when you’re around.” 

He said the last part with a playful inflection that made her smile again. The excuse was a poor one, but Hannah seemed to accept it. 

“All right then. When you decide to take a break, come find me.” 

She ran her hand from his temple to his chin, leaving a warm trail in its wake that was comfortable. Harry almost asked her to stay then, but remembering the nausea he felt when she was snuggling with him, he refrained. She tossed on her pants that were so carelessly strewn at the foot of the bed, gave him a wink, and slipped outside of his bed hangings. 

Harry put his hands behind his head, considering trying to fall back asleep. He knew he should get out of bed and start his homework; that part hadn’t been a lie. But he found himself nervous to open his bed hangings. He had seen so clearly in his mind on Friday night Malfoy sneering at him as Hannah left. He wondered if he would see a product of his imagination come true. 

But Malfoy’s bed was empty. He tried to remember if he had been in bed when he and Hannah had stumbled into the room late last night, but his memory was blurry. Shaking it off, he decided to actually do what he told Hannah and take a shower. Maybe the hot water would clear his mind and give him more insight into this newly discovered pattern of nausea after sleeping with someone. 

The concerns of the night before had faded somewhat when Harry walked into the Great Hall, replaced by wondering why Malfoy had taken Ron’s spot in his dream about the second Triwizard task. He didn’t have much time to ponder it before the previous occupant of his dream began harassing him for details about his evening with Hannah. 

“So?” Ron asked. “Don’t keep me in the dark, mate. What happened?” 

Malfoy wasn’t at the table, Harry noted. He hadn’t been in the bathroom either, and his bed had still been empty when Harry had returned from the showers. 

“Well?” Ron pressed. Harry took notice of Hermione’s absence and assumed that was why Ron was asking for details. He decided to give him the bare minimum. 

“It was great. She’s really great,” he said, attempting to inject as much enthusiasm into his voice as possible. 

Ron was not satisfied. 

“Great? Come on, don’t hold out on me,” he said. 

Harry wondered how boring Ron and Hermione’s sex life must be if he was so eager for details of Harry’s. 

But he didn’t want to make Ron suspicious. Not wanting him to press too much into why Harry was hesitant to share, he gave the briefest of details, the most mundane occurrences. He spoke enough to keep Ron from feeling like Harry was holding out on him, and did not once give any sign that he’d had anything other than an excellent night with Hannah.

He saw no reason to tell Ron about the middle of the night nausea or the unsettling sense of urgency with which he sent Hannah away in the morning. There was a very real possibility it was just a coincidence. In the meantime, he had more pressing matters. It was Sunday which meant the Hog’s Head would be closed and Harry wouldn’t be able to turn to his new comfort of drinking to sleep properly. It was, he reflected, probably a good thing. The last thing he needed was to develop a dependency on alcohol on top of everything else he was dealing with. 

After breakfast he went searching for Malfoy to get the latest on the spider silk they needed for the sleeping draught, but also because he felt weird about how they had left things on Friday and hadn’t seen him since. He’d shrugged off an eager Ron asking for his help with homework and set about searching the castle. Malfoy wasn’t in the library which was unsurprising since he clearly didn’t want to be found. He wasn’t in the Potions classroom either, or the Owlery though Harry had doubted he would find him there. He searched the green houses in case Malfoy was checking them for an herb they needed and found nothing. 

He was frustrated with his fruitless search. Until he remembered he had a magical object with a proclivity for finding people. And then he was frustrated with himself for not thinking of it sooner.

It took him awhile to find Malfoy’s dot. For a second he was convinced Malfoy wasn’t on the map and considered the Room of Requirement. But after the fire Crabbe had set off in it last time, Harry was not certain if the room worked anymore. Not to mention the last time they had been in it one of Malfoy’s closes confidants had died. He felt certain that was not a place Malfoy would want to revisit.

So he kept searching until he found the tiny dot labeled _Draco Malfoy_ in a small grove of trees by the lake. 

He stowed the map away, grabbed a scarf, and headed towards it.


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No real notes this week. Hope everyone enjoys!

Malfoy was writing. He was sitting on a blanket he had no doubt conjured and leaning back against one of the trees. His parchment was balanced on a book propped up against his legs, and he was scribbling furiously. Homework? Or a letter? Harry wasn’t sure. 

Whatever it was, Malfoy didn’t want him to see it. When Harry sat down across from him Malfoy’s first reaction was to hastily charm the piece of parchment shut and shove it in his bag. Harry raised an eyebrow. 

“What are you writing?” he asked. 

“None of your business, Potter,” Malfoy replied in a heated tone. Harry put his hands up in a gesture of supplication. 

“Relax, I’m not trying to pry.” 

“Well you’re doing a good job of making me think otherwise.”

Harry noted that Malfoy wasn’t meeting his eyes. His posture had shifted from the relaxed aura he’d had before Harry had sat down. His knees were now pulled tight to his chest and his shoulders looked tense. 

“Why have you been avoiding me?” Harry asked, deciding to get to the point. 

“Avoiding you? So now just because I haven’t seen you in a few days I’m avoiding you? Such a lofty picture of yourself you have, Potter, to think that just because you don’t see someone for a day that it means they’ve made the conscious decision to avoid you.” 

It was as if Malfoy had slapped him in the face. He was suddenly embarrassed. 

“Sorry, I – er, what I mean is I haven’t seen you since Friday,” Harry said, a lame attempt at damage control. 

“I’ve been busy,” Malfoy said dismissively. 

“Doing what?” Harry asked, unsure why he was so interested. 

“Like I said before, none of your business,” Malfoy replied. 

There was an uncomfortable silence. Harry wasn’t sure what to say. Malfoy seemed mad at him, but Harry couldn’t fathom why. Was he upset about Friday? Thinking back on it, he had looked incredibly uncomfortable. Maybe Harry should have talked to him more, made him feel more included in the group. Instead, he’d spent the entire night flirting with Hannah. 

Hannah… 

He pushed thoughts of the night before out of his mind. 

“What’s the latest on the spider silk? Have you heard back from your seller? If not, I was thinking we could maybe talk to Hermione. She’s trying to be a healer too, maybe she has a contact,” he said. 

“How was Abbott?” Malfoy asked. Harry did a double take, unsure if he had heard right. 

“What?” he asked stupidly. 

“Abbott,” Malfoy said, slowly as if he was talking to a child. “How was she?”

“I don’t know why that’s any of your business,” Harry replied defensively. 

“So you did hook up with her then,” Malfoy said in a triumphant voice that didn’t match his eyes. 

“Look,” Harry said, “I don’t want to talk about Hannah. I want to talk to you.” 

“It didn’t seem like that on Friday.” 

Ah. There it was, the truth of the matter. Harry was quiet a moment, digesting what Malfoy had just said. So his feelings were hurt. Harry felt nauseous, but an altogether different nausea from the one he’d felt last night. This nausea felt more like regret. 

“I’m sorry about that.” 

Malfoy looked up at him and met his eyes for the first time since he’d sat down. 

“On Friday. I’m sorry I didn’t talk to you more. I know you feel… uncomfortable around the other eighth years,” he said. 

Malfoy sighed. 

“You don’t have to be sorry, Potter. I don’t care.”

Harry felt like he’d been kicked in the chest. 

“You don’t?” 

“No,” Malfoy said. He was examining his cuticles. “I don’t need your apology because you didn’t hurt my feelings. You _can’t_ hurt my feelings. Nothing you say has any impact on me. So save your ‘sorry’ for someone who cares. Because I don’t.”

“Oh,” Harry said. He was at a loss for words. 

He considered standing up and walking away. The conversation was going nowhere. If Malfoy really didn’t care… no, that was impossible. Harry had seen the hurt in his eyes. He was almost certain this was a coping mechanism; it _had_ to be. If you don’t let anyone hurt you, you take away any power they hold over you. Harry had utilized this same tactic with Ron in the fourth year when he’d ignored Harry after he had been chosen champion. Ron’s dismissive attitude towards Harry had hurt. But he hadn’t let Ron know that. 

Being vulnerable was difficult. Sometimes it was easier to pretend something doesn’t matter than admit someone’s actions hurt you. But rather than press the issue, he changed the subject. Better to let Malfoy work this out on his own. 

“Well. Apology retracted then,” Harry said with a crooked grin. “So, the spider silk? What’s the latest?”

Rather than deflect again, Malfoy answered him. 

“I still haven’t heard back from my contact. He moves around a lot so it’s possible my letter hasn’t reached him. Merlin is getting older; he isn’t quite as expedient with finding recipients as he used to be.” 

“Merlin… your – ” Harry started. 

“Owl, yes, Potter, my owl is named Merlin. Not quite as original as Hedwig, but I wasn’t allowed to name my pets growing up,” he said. 

His statement left a lot to unpack, but Harry fixated on the least important part. 

“I didn’t know you knew Hedwig’s name,” he said, slightly in awe of the fact. 

Malfoy instantly went red. 

“Well, I do, all right? Don’t think I was paying attention to you or anything, because I wasn’t. You and your friends just never stopped talking. It was impossible not to overhear your conversations in class,” he said in a petulant tone that reminded Harry vaguely of an angry second year. 

“I didn’t say that,” Harry said, trying, and failing, to conceal a grin. 

Malfoy cleared his throat, cheeks still a little pink. 

“Well. Anyway, as I was saying, I have not received a response yet. I hope the response is favorable, because if not, we will have to wait for Eeylops.” 

Harry groaned at the thought of so many sleepless nights. 

“What about Hermione?” Harry asked. “Do you think she could get her hands on any? I know you said you were thinking of being a healer, but…” he trailed off. 

“But what?” Malfoy asked. “Think Granger has a better shot of getting her hands on a rare magical material because she’s one of your friends? Or maybe it’s that everyone has a better shot than me because I’m blacklisted everywhere from here to Spain?” 

Harry wondered if that was actually true but decided it was better not to ask. 

“So, until we hear back?” 

“We wait, Potter,” Malfoy said in a slightly patronizing tone. 

It was Harry’s turn to blush. Of course they wait. What else would they do? 

“All right then,” he said. 

Malfoy turned and took out a book, clearly expecting the conversation to end, but Harry found he wanted to keep talking. 

“What are you working on?” he asked, leaning his head closer to try and catch a glimpse of the book. “Potions?” 

Malfoy raised an eyebrow. 

“I _do_ work on things other than Potions homework, although I know that’s generally what we do together. I have a life outside of our interactions, hard as that may be for you to believe.” 

“Sorry. What I mean is, we should work on Potions. Together. Soon,” Harry said. 

“By ‘soon’, do you mean before class tomorrow because you haven’t started the essay on neutralizing the adverse effects arrowroot causes in appearance altering potions?” Malfoy asked with a knowing smirk. 

“If I say yes will you help me with it?” Harry asked. 

“If you ask nicely,” Malfoy said. 

“Malfoy, stellar Potions student and excellent comrade, would you do me the honor of helping me in the class of which I am so woefully underprepared?” Harry asked in a mock chivalrous tone. 

Malfoy chuckled. 

“Well since you’re doomed to fail without me, _and_ because I was planning to start my essay this evening, yes I’ll help you.”

***

The week went quickly after that. Days began to blur together in Harry’s sleep addled brain. He caught a few hours of sleep here and there, but nothing sufficient to keep him functioning at normal capacity. He would have seen Ron and Hermione looking at him with concern if he wasn’t so tired. He could barely concentrate on finishing his essays, much less on the silent glances his friends cast his way. 

He was surprised to see Hannah sit down next to him on Thursday, though he supposed he should have seen it coming. He had been in the middle of reading the same sentence again for the fourth time, still not retaining any of the words, when she sat down in the arm chair opposite him. 

“Hi, Harry,” she said, smiling in a way that didn’t feel as effortless as her grins usually did. 

Harry yawned, quickly realized how rude he seemed, and shut his mouth. Not soon enough. He saw the hurt in Hannah’s eyes. 

“Look, if you’re not into me, that’s fine,” she said bluntly. 

Harry was surprised at her directness.

“What?” he said stupidly, his exhaustion not helping his comprehension skills.

“Harry, you haven’t spoken to me since the weekend. You practically kicked me out of your bed on Sunday,” she said. Harry felt guilty; she was clearly torn, whereas he hadn’t spared her much thought.

“Listen,” she continued, “I really like you. I feel like we get along. You’re fun to talk to, and I like being your friend. If that’s all you want to be, then that’s fine. But you can’t just keep ignoring me. That’s not fair. I deserve an explanation.”

He liked her too, he realized, just not in the way he suspected she liked him. 

“I’m sorry, really,” he said, his brain finally catching up. “I like you too, I just… things are kind of weird right now. For me. And I don’t really know what I want, like in any aspect of my life. I feel sort of lost right now, and I’m sorry I brought you into it. Everything is just so confusing.” 

“Is it about Malfoy?” she asked. 

Harry didn’t know how to respond to that. 

“Sorry if I’m assuming, but I saw how you stepped outside with him at the bar, and I know you’ve been working on homework together. I’m sorry if I said anything rude about him on Friday; I didn’t know the two of you were such good friends,” she said. 

“I – no, we’re not. I mean, we sort of are? We do homework together, and patrols, and – I don’t know. We’re not friends, but we’re not _not_ friends, you know?” he asked, very aware that he was making no sense. 

“So… confusing?” Hannah asked with a smile. Harry laughed. 

“Yeah, I guess so.” 

“Don’t worry about it. We’re all dealing with things differently. Just know that you can talk to me, yeah? I don’t always feel like I can talk to people about heavy stuff. It’s like, I’m a Hufflepuff and I’m always the one making people laugh, so I don’t want to be a downer. But it’s important. To talk about the bad things, I mean.” 

She was talking quickly and running her hand through her hair. She paused, took a breath, and continued in a more composed tone. 

“Anyway, just know that I know what it’s like to feel like people rely on you and need you to be strong. So if you ever want to talk about the ugly, feel free to chat my ear off, and I won't tell anyone if you don't want me to.” 

Harry smiled. 

“Thanks, Hannah,” he said, and meant it. She mimed brushing off her shoulders with her hands. 

“Of course, of course, what would you do without me? Crash and burn, I suppose, either that or die of boredom because I am the most entertaining person in this place,” she said in a mock serious tone. 

Harry laughed knowing that despite her being sarcastic, she wasn’t entirely wrong. 

***

It was on their Thursday evening round that Malfoy broke the news. 

“No spider silk in stock, and likely none for the next four months,” he said. 

Harry groaned. 

“Do you know how much I’ve slept this week? Please, take a guess.”

“If it’s anything over 8 hours you’re doing better than me,” Malfoy said, showing just for a moment a brief glimpse of despair on his usually so carefully arranged features. 

“Isn’t there anyone else you know?” Harry asked desperately. 

“No one that’s not in Azkaban” Malfoy said with a snort. “Acromantula are incredibly rare in general, but especially in Scotland. They’re native to rainforests and – ”

Harry cut him off. 

“Did you just say Acromantula?” he asked. 

Malfoy looked at him with a bewildered expression. 

“Yes, Acromantula, Potter. The giant spider we have been trying to locate the silk of for a week and a half. Are you really that sleep deprived that you can’t remember this key aspect of our interactions?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.

“No, I just – ” he started and had to lean against the wall. Malfoy was looking at him with concern. The room was spinning. 

Spider silk. He knew they needed spider silk but _giant_ spider silk… he’d never guessed, never assumed that they needed Acromantula silk specifically. No doubt this was something anyone with a basic understanding of potions would know without needing any additional clarification. 

Harry was not one such student. 

“Potter,” Malfoy said slowly, “Do you need to go see Pomfrey?” 

“No, no, I don’t, no. I’m fine. And I know where we can get some spider silk.” 

“And this just now came to you after weeks of searching?” he asked. 

Harry laughed at the absurdity of it all. 

“Yeah. Yeah, I know where we can get some. But you’re not going to like it.”


	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone wanna explain how I'm already on chapter 31? Because that's... wild. Can't believe I've written so much. I generally abandon writing projects so I am quite proud of myself. 
> 
> Hope you all enjoy this chapter! I had fun writing it :)

Harry was idly sketching in the margins of his Transfiguration textbook, having long since abandoned the effort to try and absorb any of what McGonagall was saying. He could feel Hermione looking at him and could almost picture the exact look of disapproval he was certain she was wearing. He’d seen it often over the years, most particularly in History of Magic when he and Ron had generally been least attentive. 

He tried to ignore her but stopped doodling all the same. His attention was pulled to the front of the room where Malfoy was standing, presumable having been called up for a demonstration. He was struck by how prominent the circles under Malfoy’s eyes were. He had always noticed them, but they seemed more stark now when they were on display in front of the class. He hardened his resolve to get the spider silk. Malfoy needed it.

They both did. 

Malfoy had initially reacted exactly how Harry had expected. Shock, disbelief, quite a lot of fear. The fear was unsurprising; Harry remembered well the detention that brought the both of them into the forest. Harry had been scared, but it hadn’t stopped him from taking semi frequent trips back into the shadowy woods. Malfoy, on the other hand, seemed not to have recovered. His face had drained of what little color it had when Harry had suggested the notion, and he’d suggested every possible other avenue for obtaining the silk. 

“We can just steal it from Pomfrey. We’ll just sneak in, steal it, brew the potion, and she’ll never have to know.” 

Harry had pointed out that Pomfrey was sure to discover it was missing quickly, and if she discovered it was them that had stolen it, they could face expulsion. 

“What about your half-giant pal Hagrid? He’s friends with everyone in the forest, yeah? Can’t he go in and get it for us?” 

Harry had explained that while, yes, Hagrid did frequent the forest, if he found out why they were going in, he would surely let McGonagall know. The likely wouldn’t get expelled for going out of bounds, but they would still get in trouble, and they would lose the opportunity to make the potion. Harry was certain McGonagall would force the both of them to see the mind healers instead. 

“Christ, there has to be something else! I can’t go back in that forest,” he sputtered. Harry had never seen Malfoy lose his composure so dramatically. 

“If you can’t, that’s okay,” Harry said. 

Malfoy’s face relaxed. 

“I’ll just go in on my own,” he continued. 

Malfoy’s face tightened again. 

“You can’t go in on your own. You’ll die,” he said in a soft, fearful voice. 

Harry forced a laugh. 

“Nah, I won’t. I’ve been in loads of times, and I’ve only gotten close to death a few times.”

His attempt at humor was lost on Malfoy who looked as worried as ever. He was honestly surprised by Malfoy’s concern for his wellbeing. He had fully expected him to accept Harry’s offer to go in on his own.

“Look,” Harry said, this time all seriousness, “I don’t want to wait four months to get this potion made. You don’t want to wait four months to get this potion made. There is a surplus of spider silk a mere five-minute walk away from us. I see no reason for us to not go get it. We’ll take every precaution.”

“But what if the spiders attack?” he asked in a whisper. Harry was suddenly reminded of Ron. The two seemed to have very similar feelings on spiders. If the situation wasn’t so serious Harry would have been amused. 

“I doubt they will,” Harry said in a reassuring tone although he didn’t quite believe what he was saying. 

Aragog had undoubtedly been the leader of the spiders, and it was only by his command that Harry and Ron had avoided being eaten right after setting foot in the spiders’ den. It was likely they were still as bloodthirsty as they had been back then, and now there was no Aragog to delay them from feasting.

Of course, he hadn’t told Malfoy any of this. His unwilling companion into the forest was already terrified enough. The only reason Harry had suggested a mission so seemingly suicidal was because he hoped they would find some silk long before meeting a real Acromantula. He was banking on them making webs away from their dens. All they had to do was get close enough to their home base to get some silk but not close enough to alert any of the larger, hungrier specimens of their presence. 

Malfoy’s demonstration was deemed “passable” by McGonagall, and he was given extra practice for homework, along with nearly everyone else except Hermione and Hannah who, Harry was learning, was a very talented witch. 

Harry sat at the end of the table at lunch with Malfoy rather than at his typical seat at Ron’s side. Ron looked surprised and seemed like he was about to say something, but Harry gave a shake of his head.

Ron still looked confused, but he shrugged and turned back to Hermione. 

Malfoy groaned when he saw Harry. 

“What is it now, Potter? More plans to take years off my life?”

Harry chuckled. 

“Quite the opposite actually. What are you doing after rounds tonight? I’m thinking we can create a plan to prevent the shortening of either our lives.” 

Malfoy sighed but nodded. 

“Yes, all right, we can make a plan tonight. But leave me alone in the meantime if it isn’t too much of an inconvenience. I’m not certain how Granger and the Weasel have managed to survive all these years. Spending a month in your semi-constant presence is directly responsible for an increase in my stress levels. How they have done it for eight years is beyond me.” 

“Must be my magnetic personality,” Harry said sarcastically. “The danger is worth the reward of being around me.”

“Such arrogance,” Malfoy said, but Harry could tell he didn’t mean it as an insult. 

***

Harry noticed Hannah’s academic skill again in Herbology. He was struggling to repot his wandering geranium. They had a habit of slipping away when eyes were not focused on them, and Harry’s attention had been prone to wander of late. Hannah and Cho were paired up across from him, and he noted that their geranium never once got away from them. 

He caught up with her after class. She smiled at him.

“Rough lesson today; those fanged bastards are no joke!” she laughed. 

“Didn’t look like you were having a rough time,” Harry said, more seriously than he intended. She cocked her head, clearly sensing he had something he wanted to say. 

“I have a hypothetical for you,” Harry began carefully. 

They walked into the castle and turned to take the stairs up to Defense. Hannah raised an eyebrow. He took it as encouragement enough. 

“So let’s say a student was planning to go into the Forest for… supplies. And this student needed to get into a fairly deep part of the Forest. A part that happens to be filled with large creatures that may or may not want to consume him.

He paused, waiting for commentary. She said nothing, and her face was unreadable. He continued. 

“So this student’s best course of action is to get in and out undetected by the spi – large creatures that want to eat him. Now, let’s say a Cloak of Invisibility, hypothetical of course, will work for visual disguise, but other senses still exist. Like smell.” 

Still no reaction from her. 

“As an ace Herbology student, are there any plants you can think of that would help to conceal scent, even from rare and powerful magical creatures?” he asked, hoping desperately the answer would be yes. 

She was quiet for a moment before responding. 

“Harry, when I said you could talk my ear off and I wouldn’t tell anyone, I didn’t really mean it as an invitation to rope me into whatever scheme you’ve cooked up with Malfoy.” 

“Woah, woah – me? Malfoy? Hannah, this is a hypothetical. For… research purposes,” he said, arranging his features into what he hoped was an innocent expression. 

She didn’t buy it. 

“You’ll go into the woods regardless of what I say?” she asked, cutting right to the chase. Harry thought of how pale Malfoy had looked in Transfiguration. He nodded. 

“Well then!” she said. “If you insist on making stupid decisions, we may as well get you as prepared as possible to face the consequences.” 

“And you won’t tell Ron or Hermione, right?” he asked. The main reason he had selected Hannah instead of Neville as his Herbology point of reference was because he suspected Neville would let Hermione in on what he was doing. The thought of a lecture and another “gentle” reminder that he should seek out the mind healers was more than he could handle. 

“No, I won’t,” she said, frowning. “But I think you should.”

Harry waved her off. 

“Sometimes the less Hermione knows, the better.”

Hannah gave him a look that said clearly she disagreed with him, but he knew her well enough to know she wouldn’t go to Hermione. 

“There are a couple plants that could help you, but the only one on hand in the greenhouses is the stinging lime tree,” she said. 

She said this with a gravity that made it clear there was something important about it. Harry just looked at her, making it plain that he had no idea what she was talking about. 

She shook her head in disbelief. 

“Stinging lime is an incredibly rare plant from Australia. It has very specific growing conditions that are almost impossible to replicate, and the limes can’t be transported. They lose all magical properties very quickly after they’re clipped. Sprout actually won an award at the Botanist’s Convention of ’77 for being one of the first to effectively cultivate the plant outside of its native home,” she said.

Harry could hear the excitement in her voice. He felt bad that he couldn’t match it. 

“And?” he asked.

“ _And_ ”, she said, “That means this plant is very precious to Sprout, and she’s not just going to give out a lime to just anyone.” 

Harry must have looked disappointed, because Hannah rapped him on the head with her wand. 

“Oh relax. Don’t look so defeated. How incredibly lucky for you that I am not ‘just anyone’.”

***

“Are you absolutely certain you want to do this?” Harry asked for the umpteenth time that evening. 

“Ask one more time and I’ll hex you,” Malfoy said. 

They were in the middle of patrolling the seventh floor corridor, and Harry had just finished relaying the lime story. 

“It’s a good thing your girlfriend was able to help us out,” Malfoy said in a snarky tone. Harry frowned. 

“She’s not my girlfriend.”

Malfoy snorted in disbelief. 

“She’s not!” Harry said indignantly. “We’re just friends.” 

“Friends who spend the night together?” Malfoy asked slyly. 

“That was one time,” he said. “And anyway, why do you care? It’s not any of your concern who I spend my time with or… or – ” 

“Or who you stick your dick in?” Malfoy suggested in what he certainly thought was a helpful tone. 

Harry could feel his face getting hot. 

“Why are you bringing this up? We’re going into the Forest on Friday, and I found a way that will get us in almost undetected. Why do you care who I went to for help?” 

“I don’t,” he said, but he wasn’t meeting Harry’s eyes. “I would just appreciate a little notice next time you decide alert someone of our plans to break school rules,” he said in a tone that reminded Harry so much of Hermione that he started laughing loud enough that he wouldn’t have been surprised if he woke the Gryffindor students in their dorm down the hall. 

“What’s so funny?” Malfoy demanded. 

“It’s just,” Harry said, laughing, “I didn’t realize you were such a rule follower.” 

“I am not!” Malfoy said, his ears turning pink. 

“You absolutely are!” Harry said, still laughing. “I’ll have to tell Hermione to back off. With you around, I’ll stay out of trouble. She’ll be glad I’m hanging out with someone who will keep me on the straight and narrow.” 

Malfoy was glaring at him now. 

“Are you quite finished? We have work to do you know,” he said. 

“Oh yes, of course. Lots of official patrol work to be done. I was going to suggest we skive off early, but never mind; not now that I know how much esteem you hold the rules of Hogwarts in,” he said in a mock serious tone. 

Malfoy rolled his eyes, and in a motion so fast Harry couldn’t even think about blocking it, Malfoy hit him with the Tickling Jinx. Harry began laughing hysterically, the tickling sensation so funny it was almost painful on his sensitive abdomen. 

“Wait, hang on – I… no,” he said. Tears of laughter were forming in his eyes. He leaned against the wall for extra support before fully collapsing on the ground into a fetal position. 

Malfoy cocked his head and looked down at Harry for a moment before he squatted down to his level. He leaned close and took Harry’s face in his hand, his thumb and index finger on either side of his chin. 

“You don’t know me very well if you think I enjoy following rules, Potter,” he said quietly. “Let me make something very clear. The only rules I follow are the ones that suit me. The rest I shatter.” 

The last time Harry had been this close to Malfoy was when he had rescued him from the burning Room of Requirement. He was able to focus better this time. Focus on the smell of Malfoy’s cologne, the way his pupils dilated when their eyes met, how a strand of his hair had become separate from the rest and was now dangling in front of his forehead. 

It took him a second to realize the tickling charm had worn off. Malfoy suddenly pulled away, clearing his throat and rubbing the hand that had just been on Harry’s chin on the back of his neck which was red. 

“Erm, anyways,” Malfoy said, his confidence from a moment ago gone, “When are we getting these limes?” 

Harry slowly pushed himself back up to his feet and continued the round, trying not to think about how he could still feel the spot on his face where Malfoy’s hand had been.


	32. Chapter 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I buy stock in AMC? You bet I did. 
> 
> Hope everyone likes this week's chapter!! Much love to you all.

Harry was questioning for the first time if he would have been better off going to Neville for help. The limes in Hannah’s hand were about the size of a knut and bright aqua. He looked up at her and raised an eyebrow. 

“Don’t judge them on how they look,” she said, effectively interpreting his doubtful expression. “They may be small, but they pack a punch.” 

Harry took them from her, still a bit worried. 

“You’re sure they’ll work?” 

“Positive,” she said with an absolute certainty that put him at ease.

“Is there any point in me asking what you’re going into the Forest for?” she asked. 

Harry shook his head. He trusted Hannah, but he didn’t need the circle of people who knew he still dealt with nightmares to grow. His mental fragility was a secret between him and Malfoy, an unlikely conspirator, but no doubt a valuable one. Harry would have never been able to brew the potion successfully on his own.

“Well, be careful then, yeah?” 

She said it with sincerity, and Harry felt a rush of affection for her. She had every right to be upset with him after how he’d treated her after their one-night stand, but she was instead helping him to survive a harebrained scheme with very little information about his plans. It was no wonder she was sorted into Hufflepuff; she was loyal to a fault. 

“Of course. And thank you,” he said. She grinned and jabbed him with her elbow. 

“You owe me! You’re buying, like, the next ten rounds. And I’m ordering top shelf!” 

“Top shelf?” Harry asked in mock horror. “You’ll bankrupt me.”

“That’s the price you pay for my silence,” she said, handing him the limes. 

“So you’re blackmailing me now?” Harry asked. 

“Think of it more as you repaying a friend for being incredibly helpful and very discreet,” she said smiling. Harry rolled his eyes, and she only smiled wider. 

***

Harry slept worse than usual the night before they were going into the Forest. Even though he’d been in multiple times since his initial encounter with Aragog, the thought of the mass of hairy spiders closing in on them to feast still made him nauseous with anxiety. 

He tossed and turned for hours, trying to fall asleep but having no success. He knew that the minute he fell asleep Aragog and his brood would be waiting behind his closed eyes, poised to devour him whole. 

The thought was enough to prompt him into grabbing the sleeping draught that had been sitting unused by his bed for weeks. Initially the product of a silent battle of wills with Malfoy, it now seemed far more important to be well rested than to prove whatever it had been the both of them were attempting to prove.

He checked his watch – quarter past two, but he knew Malfoy would still be awake. He opened the hangings on his bed, put on a pair of slippers, and mentally prepared himself for an invasion of space he was certain Malfoy would not appreciate. It was only a few steps to his bed, but Harry was exhausted at the thought. Still, he grabbed the potion and strode over. He paused. Should he say something or just open the hangings? He had a sudden image in his mind of him knocking on the bed curtains and almost burst out laughing. 

The prospect of a restful night prompted him into action rather quicker than he would have done otherwise. He ended up whispering a soft _lumos_ and sticking his wand between the curtains to give Malfoy some warning. When he opened the hangings, he was surprised to find it was bright. Malfoy had conjured some candles that were levitated around him, illuminating the piece of paper he was scribbling on. 

When he saw Harry, he hastily shoved the paper away, spilling the ink bottle in the process. Harry was about to ask what he was writing, when Malfoy interrupted his thoughts. 

“What the hell are you doing?” he hissed after casting a quick _muffliato_. 

Harry was taken aback at his furious tone. He had expected irritation, perhaps a trademark scowl, but not blatant anger. He and Malfoy weren’t good friends, but he thought they had reached an agreement, a common ground of sorts. 

Clearly that common ground did not extend to unexpected intrusions in the middle of the night. 

“I, er, thought it might be a good night to finally use the sleeping draught,” he said, suddenly embarrassed. Why had he thought this was a good idea?

Malfoy was embarrassed too if the color of his cheeks was anything to go by. He didn’t say anything, and Harry felt the need to fill the awkward silence. He gestured vaguely at the floating candles. 

“I like your lighting technique,” he said, sounding stupid even to himself. Malfoy didn’t dignify his statement with a response. 

“You brought the potion?” he asked, getting right to the point. Harry nodded. 

“All right then. As good a night as any, I suppose,” Malfoy said. 

Encouraged by his response, Harry conjured a goblet and poured half the potion in it. There was very little, barely enough for them to get two full gulps out of it, but hopefully it would be enough to give them the few hours of rest they needed to have their wits about them when they went into the Forest. 

Feeling uncomfortable by the height difference, Harry sat on the edge of Malfoy’s bed, careful not to get too close. The hangings closed around them. Harry held out his glass to do a cheers. Malfoy looked at him a bit suspiciously, as though Harry had some ulterior motive, but he nonetheless clinked his glass briefly with Harry’s before downing his potion in one go. Harry did the same. 

When they were finished, Harry didn’t leave right away. The air between them felt tense. He wanted to say something, encouraging words or something else he wasn’t sure.

“What are you doing, Potter?” 

Harry realized it was too late to say anything. The moment had passed. Instead, he just grinned, hoping it effectively masked the awkwardness he felt. 

“Nothing. Just… sleep well, yeah?” 

Malfoy nodded and turned away, a clear dismissal. Harry turned and went back to his own bed, his eyes already drooping.

***

The look on Malfoy’s face was almost enough to convince Harry to reassess their course of action. He reassured himself that the Cloak would hide them, and the juice of the limes would mask their scent, if Hannah was to be believed. They were both incredibly skilled wizards going in with a plan and all the necessary precautions. 

“We’ll be fine,” Harry said. Malfoy was looking faintly green, but still managed a sharp comeback. 

“I never said we wouldn’t be,” he said. 

“I know,” Harry said. “But I figured I’d say it anyway. You’re not very good at hiding your emotions, you know? You look terrified.”

The expression of latent terror switched to one of irritation. 

“Since when are you so perceptive?” he asked in a petulant tone.

“I guess since now,” Harry said, pulling the Cloak out of his bag. “Ready?” 

Malfoy looked dubious at the prospect of sharing the Cloak. 

“You’re sure that’s big enough for two?” 

Harry laughed. 

“Well, it was when we were fourteen. May be a bit of a tight squeeze, but we’ll manage. 

“You know I can just cast disillusionment charms on us, right?” Malfoy asked.

Harry shook his head. 

“Charms can wear off. The Cloak is foolproof.” 

“Wear off when you cast them maybe, but my charms work is stellar, not that you’ve noticed,” he said, still irritated. The comment surprised Harry. 

“Who said I hadn’t noticed?” he asked, genuinely curious. Malfoy was taken aback; he clearly hadn’t expected Harry to ask. 

“I – well no one said that to me, of course, but… well you haven’t, have you?” he said, not meeting Harry’s eyes. 

“Er… did you want me to?” 

“No!” Malfoy said, his eyes shooting to Harry’s. And then, in a much calmer tone that was more normal for him – 

“No. I did not mean to imply that I desire your attentions. I only wanted to point out that my disillusionment charm will certainly hold and illustrate that you are uninformed of my skills in that branch of magic by mentioning that you would know about my proficiency in charms if you had paid even the slightest bit of attention in class,” he said.

“Paid attention not to me specifically,” he added quickly, “But in general. You, Granger, and the Weasel were always so distracting. Well, you and the Weasel anyway. Granger was more productive.”

It was the closest thing to a compliment Harry had ever heard Malfoy say about Hermione. He was then reminded of the harsh reality that Malfoy had been hateful and full of spite for his friend their entire lives. The Malfoy he had come to know over the past month didn’t seem like that anymore. Maybe he was growing up. Harry made a mental note to analyze this later. 

“So?” Harry asked, gesturing at the Cloak. Malfoy sighed.

“As I said before, my charm would be more than sufficient, but since you seem to doubt me, I suppose the Cloak will have to do,” he said. 

The Cloak, it transpired, was much too small to fit the both of them. Malfoy was a few inches taller than Harry, and they both had to crouch for the Cloak to cover them. Even so, their feet poked out every couple steps if they weren’t careful. Harry was hyperaware of his body and its proximity to Malfoy’s. It reminded him of the night before, when they had been only a foot apart, hidden behind the bed curtains. 

“Yes, Potter, this is much easier than a disillusionment charm,” Malfoy said in a sarcastic whisper. Harry shushed him; they were closing in on the Forest which had only been a short jaunt from their cottages. 

“Wait,” Malfoy said when they reached the first trees. Small oaks dotted the outskirts, much smaller and sparser than the giant pines Harry knew populated the center where the sunlight itself was blocked out.

Harry turned to him under the Cloak. His nose was only inches from Malfoy’s, and he could feel the other boy’s breath on his cheek when he spoke. The half moon illuminated his face, but just barely. 

“I don’t think I can do this,” Malfoy whispered. 

“You don’t have to,” Harry said. “I said I would go in alone, and I meant it. If you have to go back now, it’s okay.”

Malfoy was quiet for a moment, deliberating. He finally said, 

“Can you just – and Christ I will hex you blind if you tell anyone I said this, but can you… stay close?” he asked. 

Harry gestured to the approximately four inches of space between them. 

“I knew you liked my company, but I didn’t know you liked it this much,” Harry said, resorting to humor to cover his confusion at the situation. 

Malfoy ran a hand through his hair. 

“You’re insufferable; do you know that?” he asked, then, without warning, wrapped his hand around Harry’s wrist. 

Harry gasped in surprise, but Malfoy misinterpreted it. He wrenched his hand away and took off the Cloak. He started walking quickly away, but Harry pulled off the Cloak and jogged up to him. 

“Wait, no, hang on,” he said. 

Malfoy turned, and Harry swore his eyes were watering. 

“I’m not like you and your friends, Potter,” he said unprompted in a wobbly voice. “I’m no hero, and I’m not brave. I’m only doing this because it benefits me, can’t you see that?” 

“Why do you think I’m doing this?” Harry asked. “I’m not doing this for the greater good. I’m not trying to brew this potion to save lives or help Ron and Hermione. I’m doing it because I can’t sleep. I can’t sleep and neither can you, and… fuck we both went through enough last year. We need to sleep, we _deserve _to sleep. I want to feel safe in my own head again.”__

__Malfoy rubbed his face, seeming to wipe away an errant tear, but Harry had the decency to pretend he didn’t see._ _

__“Here,” he said, stashing the Cloak by a pile of firewood that looked like it hadn’t been touched in years._ _

__“What are you doing?” Malfoy asked._ _

__“We don’t need it,” Harry said. “Disillusionment charm will work better.”_ _

__Malfoy eyed Harry, then his wand._ _

__“Come on then,” Harry said. “Let’s see these legendary charm skills in action.”_ _

__“What about it wearing off?” Malfoy asked. “It could wear off, I mean it won’t because I’m very talented at charms, but it could. If it wears off –”_ _

__“It won’t,” Harry said firmly. Malfoy took a deep breath and nodded._ _

__He did a complex series of wand movements, and soon after, Harry found his own body was missing._ _

__“Brilliant,” he said and meant it._ _

__Malfoy prepared to disillusion himself, but before he could complete the charm, Harry grabbed Malfoy’s wrist, just as he had grabbed Harry’s own just moments before. Malfoy tensed up with shock, but quickly relaxed into Harry’s touch._ _

__“So we don’t lose each other,” Harry said._ _

__Malfoy nodded, completing the charm and vanishing. The two of them stepped into the forest._ _


	33. Chapter 33

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LONG A/N PLEASE READ - 
> 
> Couple orders of business. 
> 
> 1\. I will not be uploading a new chapter next Sunday the 14th (v sorry you won't be able to spend Valentine's Day with a new chapter). This fic is getting quite long and I need a week to read back over it. I don't write like most people; I don't have a plan. I don't have layouts of action I want to happen in every chapter or outlines of character arcs. In fact, I don't even know how this fic will end. I never know what's going to happen when I write; I just let the story develop. That's why I never tagged Harry/Hannah - I had no idea when I started this story that they would be an element. So anyways, tangent aside, I just need a week to read over everything and regroup. Remember arcs I planned early on and redevelop them into the current state of the story. 
> 
> 2\. Just a personal note to say thank you to everyone who reads. As I said before, I don't generally stick with projects longterm. My brain gets bored with things very easily. I have examples of projects I was excited about for two weeks before getting bored of them littered around my house (roller blades, ukulele, record player, crochet needles, you get the picture). To be honest, the only reason I am still writing this fic is because I know you guys like it. It fuels me to know people are reading and enjoying my work. To everyone who reads and everyone who comments - thank you from the bottom of my soul. I like writing this. I am glad you like reading it. 
> 
> Anyway emotion time over, here's the latest chapter. As always, comments are appreciated <3

It had been a while since Harry had been under a disillusionment charm, and he had forgotten how strange it was. Being under the Cloak he could still see himself, but Malfoy’s charm, true to his word, had vanished them fully. His hand, which had slipped easily into Malfoy’s, was the only thing linking them. He found himself suddenly worried they would get separated and be unable to find each other. He held on tighter, his interlaced fingers pressing down on Malfoy’s knuckles. 

“I know I’m incredibly desirable, Potter, but could you loosen your hold a bit? If you cut off my circulation, I’ll be incredibly displeased,” Malfoy said. 

Harry hastily loosened his grip, but never considered letting go. 

“Scared yet?” Harry asked, trying for a light tone that didn’t quite hit the mark. 

Malfoy scoffed, trying to put on a brave face despite being openly terrified just minutes ago. 

“Of course not. It will take a lot more than a few trees to send me running.” 

The Forest wasn’t all that scary, Harry thought, before reminding himself they were still at the thinnest part. The trees were tall, but no taller than in an average forest. There were no terrifying creatures yet, and the stars were still visible. 

“So,” Malfoy continued, “How exactly are we planning to find this elusive spider silk? Summoning it won’t work, highly magical animal parts don’t take kindly to being summoned. Is the plan to wildly stomp around the forest until one of us gets stuck in the webs?” 

“Very funny,” Harry said. “Once we get a bit further in, I’ll check the ground for spiders. If we follow the spiders, we should find the silk.”

Harry’s hand slid involuntarily out of Malfoy’s. He realized the other boy had stopped walking. 

“Malfoy?” he asked, already panicked at the thought of losing him. 

“I’m right here, idiot,” Malfoy said, and the tip of his wand illuminated, floating eerily. 

Harry grabbed at it and made contact with Malfoy’s torso. 

“Christ, don’t do that again,” Harry said, finding Malfoy’s hand. 

“What happened to ‘the forest isn’t so bad’?” Malfoy asked with a snort. 

“Full of jokes tonight, aren’t you?”

“None funnier than the one you just told. Follow the spiders? Very funny, Potter. I think the Hog’s Head does comedy night on Thursday’s; you should really put together a set. Mind you it’d probably just be you and Aberforth, so you may have a chance at being a standout,” he said sarcastically. 

“Okay number one – if I was to do stand up in a room of _thirty_ , I would be a standout. I am hilarious as I am certain you know. Number two – not a joke. The spiders are the key. They’ll lead us straight to the den.” 

“But we aren’t going to the den? Right?” Malfoy asked, and Harry was sure he heard fear in his tone. 

“Not unless you have a death wish. We’ll just follow them close enough to get the silk and get out, all without encountering any hungry spiders. Now, let’s get a move on. I have a long night of not sleeping ahead of me, and I would love to get to it,” Harry said, hoping the humor would calm Malfoy’s nerves. 

They walked ten more minutes, making intermittent, albeit quiet, conversation before Harry stopped to examine the ground. He whispered a quick _lumos_ and searched the forest floor unsuccessfully. He could see in his mind’s eye the look of dignified irritation Malfoy no doubt had on his face. 

“Nothing?” he asked rhetorically. 

“No,” Harry said, extinguishing the tip of his wand. “I don’t understand; the last time I was in here there were droves of spiders.” 

“And they were going to the den?” Malfoy asked. 

“Well, yeah. All the spiders converged there. Their leader died though… I didn’t think about that, but it’s possible he was the only thing keeping them there.” 

“Their leader?” 

“Aragog,” Harry supplied. “Giant spider raised by Hagrid.”

“Raised by _Hagrid_?!”

“Not important,” Harry said, still searching the ground in hopes he would stumble on an errant spider. “I don’t know how we’ll get close to the den without the spiders guiding us.”

“Do you remember anything else about how you got there? Any general directions or distinguishing landmarks?” 

Harry shook his head. 

“All I remember is that it was the deepest I’ve ever been in the Forest. Not sure how long we walked for, but it felt like at least an hour.” 

“Did the spiders lead you out again?” 

“No, Ron’s dad’s car – ” 

Malfoy cut him off. 

“Car?” 

“Yeah, Arthur had a car he’d tinkered with. We drove it to school in the second year, don’t you remember?”

“I remember you and the Weasel showed up to the feast late. But you didn’t answer my question.” He sounded irritated; Harry was incredulous. 

“What question?” 

“A car,” Malfoy said, as if it should be obvious. “What is it?”

Initially confused, it slowly dawned on Harry that Malfoy grew up in a family that actively scorned muggleborn witches and wizards. His parents had believed muggles should be forced into submission to create a pureblood wizarding utopia. Of course he had no idea what a car was. 

“It’s like a carriage, but it goes a lot faster,” he explained, fully aware of the strangeness of the situation. It was pitch black in the middle of the Forest. They were invisible, out of bounds, holding hands, and Harry was explaining to Malfoy what a car was. “Muggles use them to get around.”

“Oh,” he said. “It’s a muggle thing?” 

Harry felt the awkwardness brought on by his discussion of the muggle world. Malfoy had always scorned muggles before, but since being back at school he seemed to have softened his stance. He hadn’t mocked Hermione once, aside from occasional comments of her being a ‘know it all’ or a ‘bookworm’, both of which, Harry reflected, were true. Despite this, they hadn’t yet had a conversation about his prejudices, and he certainly hadn’t apologized. 

But now was not the time for a deep conversation about past prejudices or traumatic incidents that could have shifted Malfoy’s stance on his ideologies. Harry searched for something to say to shift the tide of the conversation to safer topics, but Malfoy said, 

“The car. Is it still in here?” 

Harry laughed aloud. 

“Malfoy you magnificent bastard!” 

Possibilities cropped up in Harry’s brain. He tried to remember how they had called the car to them before. He didn’t remember doing much of anything but yelling and running. The car had more or less come to them. Would _accio_ work? Could they use some kind of tracking spell? He cursed himself for not bringing the map with him. He’d never looked closely, but it was entirely possible the car had been on there, hidden deep in the recesses of the Forest he had never bothered to look closely at. 

He gripped Malfoy’s hand with more force than he’d anticipated, so caught up in scheming a way to find the car. Malfoy yelped as Harry pulled him close. 

“Sorry,” Harry said, relaxing his grip. “Just, stay close, okay? I’m going to try and _accio_ the car. Don’t want you getting run over, now do we?” 

“I haven’t quite made up my mind on that point,” Malfoy said with irritation. 

Nonetheless, he stayed glued to Harry’s side. Harry was aware of every part of Malfoy that was touching him. He could almost feel a faint electric pulse in the spots where Malfoy was pressed against him. Knee on knee, hip on hip, hand in hand. If Harry wasn’t so focused on concentrating every fiber of his body on the car, he would have been confused by the heat rising in his face. 

As it stood, however, he chalked the blush in his cheeks up to the strenuous nature of the spell he was casting. 

“Accio!” he said, his voice taking on a deeper tone than he was used to. 

They waited; no luck. Harry sighed. 

“You’re the charm master. Does _accio_ work on semi-sentient objects?” Harry asked. 

“I have no idea,” Malfoy said. “As far as I know, it’s never been tried, and if it has been, whoever tried it did not see fit to write it down in any book I’ve ever read.” 

“Can you try?” 

“Don’t be stupid, Potter,” Malfoy scoffed. “The key to a summoning charm is to know what the object looks like. I have never seen any car, much less this magical mechanic hybrid Arthur Weasley cooked up.” 

Harry took a deep breath, preparing to cast again, when an unnamed creature’s howl pierced the air. Harry faltered, and he felt Malfoy jump beside him. He took his hand out of Harry’s and quickly shifted his arm around his waist instead. He pulled him closer which made Harry jump as well, not from disgust, but surprise. 

“Malfoy - ” 

“Shh,” he cut him off. Harry shushed.

They stood silently for a moment, listening for another howl. It didn’t come. Slowly, Malfoy removed his arm. Harry shivered, finding himself missing its warmth. Once again, he steeled himself to cast, this time focusing more intently on the car itself, on the faded blue paint and the chipped bumper. 

“Accio Ford Anglia!” he said, hoping that by inserting the car’s name in his spell he would have more luck. They waited again, this time separated, and when Harry was about to call it and say they should return to their dorm and try again another night, he heard a distant crashing. Malfoy grabbed his wrist, clearly panicking, but Harry knew that crashing. 

“It’s okay,” he said, laughing with relief. “It’s okay.” 

The blinding car lights were a welcome sight to Harry who wished he could see Malfoy’s reaction. 

“Well?” he asked. 

“It’s… larger than I expected,” Malfoy said slowly. Harry laughed and pulled his hand towards the Anglia. 

“Come on, then. The silk won’t find itself.” 

To Harry’s relief, the car seemed to know where it was going. All he had to do was inform it of their search and the car took off deeper into the Forest. Harry was worried at first, but within five minutes they were parked by a large clump of silken webs, shredded by some creature he was certain they did not want to meet. 

Malfoy took off the disillusionment charms once they were secure in the car, and Harry was pleased to find he only looked slightly faint. He was taking his first experience with muggle tech remarkably well. He was clutching the door handle with more force than necessary, but overall his countenance was fairly calm. 

He did seem relieved when they got out of the car to collect the silk though, grabbing it in a methodical way that made Harry suspect he was in no rush to return to the Anglia. 

“You all right?” he asked, trying to keep any condescension out of his voice. 

“Of course,” Malfoy said without looking at him. “The car was quite… efficient. It seems to know its way around the Forest. It has been a valuable ally in this endeavor.” 

Harry noted that Malfoy’s tone became more posh when he was nervous. 

“Because it would be okay if you weren’t all right,” Harry said. “Muggle stuff can take some getting used to if you didn’t grow up with it.” 

Malfoy didn’t respond, and Harry dropped the subject. 

The car deposited them outside the Forest twenty minutes later after taking them to a few other spots for more silk. Once Malfoy declared they had enough for a healthy batch of Sleeping Draught, they directed the car to the woodpile where Harry had stashed his Cloak. 

“One more disillusionment charm?” Harry asked. The sun was peaking over the horizon, and McGonagall would be on the prowl soon.

Malfoy nodded, and they were soon invisible again. Harry found himself reaching for Malfoy’s hand again before stopping and reminding himself that they were no longer in any danger. 

Once back in the room they said a brief goodnight before retiring to their respective beds. Harry wanted to say something more, compliment Malfoy on his reaction to a piece of the muggle world perhaps, or remark on how it was impressive that their disillusionment charms had held the whole time, but before he got a chance the other boy had drawn his bed hangings closed.


	34. Chapter 34

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I'm back! Had to change some minor continuity errors (students I didn't initially mention coming back that I've since written in, etc) but overall nothing major.
> 
> Anyways, hope everyone enjoys :)

The Great Hall was filled with the sound of rustling newspapers the next morning. Harry didn’t pay it much attention initially, too focused on brainstorming where they would set up their home base for brewing the Sleeping Draught. He was quickly informed by Ron, however, who practically pulled him into the seat next to Hermione. 

“Mate, did you hear? It’s all over the papers. She broke out – the only one since Sirius. That family has a talent for escape… think she’s an Animagus too?” 

“What? Who? Broke out of what?” 

Ron looked at Harry and rolled his eyes. 

“Narcissa. Malfoy’s mom. She broke out of Azkaban; they’re not sure how long ago. Did some crazy advanced magic and transfigured a rat to look and act like her. It responded to the Dementors’ presence and everything. This bloke Williams in here is some sort of transfiguration prodigy, says he’s never seen anything like it. Only reason they realized it was a fake is because the rat died.”

Harry slowly processed this information. He looked down the table and saw Malfoy was absent. 

“I – but how could she have done? They took her wand at the trial; I saw them do it,” Harry said. 

Ron shrugged. 

“That’s what this Williams guy is trying to figure out. He said this magic would be impressive even with a wand, but without…”

Harry was beginning to realize where Malfoy’s aptitude for wandless magic came from. 

“Do you think Malfoy’s okay?” Harry asked. Ron looked at him as though he had just suggested Binns was an excellent teacher. 

“Who cares? He probably knew the whole time. I bet he’s been helping her lay low; maybe even helped her plan the escape,” Ron said in a tone that made Harry defensive. 

“He wouldn’t do that,” Harry said fiercely. Ron looked taken aback. 

“How would you know? You don’t know him.” 

It occurred to Harry that the complexities of his and Malfoy’s relationship, the shifts it had gone through in the past weeks, were not common knowledge. He had told very little of their shaky friendship to Ron and Hermione; most of the eighth years likely assumed they were nothing more than begrudging Head Boys. 

Not wanting to explain the situation, he backtracked. 

“Just doesn’t seem like something he would do,” Harry mumbled, biting into a piece of toast despite having lost his appetite which he had just begun to regain.

Ron still looked confused, but his attention was grabbed by something Hermione was saying. Harry wasn’t paying attention, too caught up with the concerning idea that Malfoy had been somehow helping his mom escape. He was considering the best way to broach the subject with him later, when Hermione interrupted his thoughts. 

“Harry, what do you think?” 

“About…?” he asked, certain her query had something to do with the conversation he had not been following. 

Hermione sighed, giving him a look he had seen all to often over the years when she was explaining a concept he had been too distracted during class to grasp. 

“Ron thinks it likely Narcissa is staying close to the castle and is convinced we should be the ones to find her.” It was clear by her tone that she highly disapproved and was hoping Harry would speak out against the scheme. 

“What do you think, mate? Could be like the old days, sneaking around, breaking rules, you know?” Ron asked.

He sounded so hopeful. Harry could tell then that Ron would make an excellent Auror, excited as he was by the prospect of detective work. But Harry thought of his recent expedition into the Forest and the potion he would be brewing without permission. It struck him that this was the first time he had ever broken school rules without either Ron or Hermione in the know. He felt all the strangeness of doing something like this without them and realized that they were going their separate ways. It made him feel wistful for a life he felt he no longer led, one he couldn’t return to. 

The two of them were looking at him expectantly. He cleared his throat. 

“Erm, yeah I don’t know. Seems a bit dangerous,” he said. Hermione looked pleased; Ron, defeated. 

“That’s exactly what I was telling Ronald. I know school isn’t quite as, well, exciting as being on the run was, but it’s certainly a lot more safe! There will be time enough for chasing down criminals once you’ve graduated and joined the force,” she said. Harry could tell by her tone that this had been a conversation they’d had before. 

“But we should be helping if we can!” Ron said. “What if Narcissa is skulking around the grounds trying to get to Harry? She could be plotting something – revenge maybe?” 

“Why in the world would she do that?” Hermione asked. “Harry spoke up at her trial; he got her a lighter sentence.” 

“And look how she repaid him! By escaping. I’m telling you, something’s fishy here.” 

“You’re just letting old prejudices cloud your judgement. How would she have snuck onto the grounds anyway? The wards are stronger than before,” Hermione said matter of factly. 

Ron rolled his eyes. 

“It would have been easy to do if she’s an Animagus – all she’d need to do is transform. Or maybe she apparated on!” 

“How many times do I need to tell you – ”

Harry let their conversation fade into the background, preoccupied by Malfoy’s absence. It clearly had to do with the story. Was it possible Malfoy knew about the escape beforehand? 

Harry tried to focus on other things, but without classes to distract him, his thoughts kept returning to the worrisome prospect. He tried to do homework, but wasn’t able to focus. Had Malfoy known his mother had escaped before the news article came out? Had he helped her do it? Was he in contact with her now? Worse still, was it possible he was her eyes and ears around the castle, reporting back any information she deemed important? He had thought Narcissa past the lure of the Death Eaters – she’d certainly seemed remorseful at the trial – but maybe he’d read her wrong. He couldn’t think of any other reason she would risk escaping Azkaban unless she had an ulterior motive. Her imprisonment, unlike Lucius’, had only been a year. 

The more he thought about it, the more likely it seemed that Narcissa had escaped for nefarious reasons. He doubted she would risk it just to get out a bit sooner than her sentence mandated. But what could she have escaped for? Voldemort was gone; was she serving a new master now? Someone devoted to following in his footsteps? His mind immediately went to Bellatrix before remembering Mrs. Weasley’s well placed curse in the heat of battle. He could still see the look on her face as she fell, her hair fanned out around her, face frozen in a look of angry shock, as though resenting that a woman of Mrs. Weasley’s stature could hit her with anything. 

Who else was there? Lucius was in jail, and all the other people in connection with Voldemort had been given their respective sentences. Narcissa’s had been the only one under five years. From what he could see, there was no one to serve. 

So why escape? 

He wanted to discuss it with Ron and Hermione but knew that talking about it would get Ron’s hopes up that Harry would investigate it with him. And as much as the situation was occupying his every thought, he didn’t have the energy to unearth a possible conspiracy. 

And beyond that there was fear, a fear that if he dug too deep, he may find something that he didn’t want to know. He thought of Malfoy, his – well, maybe not friend – but his co-conspirator, his accomplice in upholding school rules on their rounds that they turned around and broke together afterwards. He considered the possibility that Malfoy was working for his mother, but quickly shook it off. The boy he had come to know was broken, but he wasn’t stupid. Malfoy had to know that working for his mother and the remaining Death Eaters wouldn’t make him whole again. 

“Coming out tonight, mate?” 

Ron’s voice startled him from his musings. He was surprised to see the sun was setting outside the Common Room window; hadn’t he just sat down to do some homework? He looked down and saw a single sentence – _The properties of arrowroot powder are incredibly detailed and complex, which is why it is one of the most common potions ingredients_.

“Um, I – er, kind of have a lot of homework to do,” Harry said lamely. Not a lie, but not the reason he didn’t want to go out. 

“Oh, all right. Figured you got most of it done last night,” he said in a nonchalant tone that made Harry feel guilty. He hated lying to his best friend but couldn’t think of any other excuse the day before when Ron wanted him to accompany them to Hog’s Head. 

“Yeah, it was harder than I’d expected.”

“Why don’t you just wait ‘till tomorrow?” he asked hopefully. “‘Mione can help! I know she always says we need to do the work on our own, but trust me, if you bother her about it for an hour or so, she’ll crack.” 

Harry considered saying yes. He realized he’d been neglecting every relationship in his life, so caught up with the path he and Malfoy were taking together. He wanted to go back to a year ago when he trusted Ron with everything and there were no complications. 

But now Ron was dating Hermione, and Harry felt he no longer fit into the picture. Not just because they were dating, but because they seemed so… whole. They smiled at each other and made jokes. Meanwhile, Harry was plagued by nightmares every night. Strangely enough, he felt more comfortable around a boy he’d hated so much a year ago that he’d used a curse on him that nearly made him bleed out. 

He was certain if he tried to explain this that Ron would brush him off and say that nothing would change their friendship. Then, in classic Ron fashion, he would challenge him to a round of chess, loser buys drinks. He knew Ron would be supportive, but support wasn’t enough. Harry realized then that the brokenness was what bound him and Malfoy together – two people who were shells of themselves trying to feel like a functioning person again. 

And then he knew that he had to talk to Malfoy right away, to make certain that he knew that Harry knew he wouldn’t spy on the castle for his mom. Everyone else was whispering about the possibility; Harry needed Malfoy to know that he didn’t believe a word of it. 

“Sorry – can’t,” he said, standing up and hastily putting his papers in his bag. “I have to – well anyways I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

He brushed past a very confused looking Ron and made for his dormitory where he knew the map would reveal Malfoy’s location, wondering to himself why he hadn’t gone to him the moment the news broke. 

***  
He was in the Owlery, feeding Merlin. Harry watched silently for a moment, recognizing the rarity of this moment where he could examine Malfoy when he was alone. Harry wondered if he kept his walls up all the time or if in moments like these, he let his guard down. He was giving Merlin what looked like small bits of bacon. Harry wondered vaguely if he’d stolen them from breakfast before remembering Malfoy hadn’t been there. Worried about his reputation or just wanting to avoid watchful eyes, Harry couldn’t say. 

Taking a deep breath, he moved into the room. Malfoy looked up at him and didn’t give so much as a smirk. His complexion was taking on a gray-ish pallor, and he looked sickly. 

“Do you mind if I sit?” Harry asked. 

Malfoy shrugged. Harry took it as invitation enough. The sat quietly for a moment. Harry could tell Malfoy was volatile; he wasn’t certain what would set him off. He wanted to tread lightly, but subtlety had never been Harry’s strong suit. 

“I know you didn’t do it,” he blurted. Anything to break the strange silence. 

Malfoy gave him a quizzical look. Harry cleared his throat and clarified. 

“I – er, saw the papers. Your mom and all. I mean, I’m sure you did too. But,” he forged forward, hoping the awkwardness would fade, “I know you wouldn’t help your mom escape. That’s what some people are saying.” 

“Are they?” he asked in a bored tone. 

“Yeah,” Harry said, hoping he hadn’t made a mistake by bringing it up. “But I don’t believe it. You wouldn’t do that.” 

Malfoy gave him a bland look, any hint of emotion drained from his eyes. The mask he had been slowly beginning to drop around Harry was firmly in place. 

“You wouldn’t do that,” Harry repeated. “You wouldn’t go back to the Death Eaters; I know it.” 

Malfoy sighed and tossed a piece of bacon into the air for Merlin to catch. 

“You don’t know anything about me, Potter. You don’t know the things I’ve done, the people I’ve hurt. I know you’ve got this savior complex, and you want to see the good in everyone, but what if there’s no good to see in me?”

“That’s not true.” 

“How would you know? You don’t know me. The only reason you’re spending any time with me is because you see me as your little project. Poor lonely Slytherin, you think you can fix me.” 

“I don’t; that’s not – ”

“Well I have news for you, I can’t be fixed. No amount of time spent with the Chosen One will make me any less of a fuck up.” 

“What, no! I don't spend time with you to change you; I _like_ spending time with you! ”

“No! Don’t say that; you’re making everything more difficult. We hated each other for seven years; why can’t you just stay away from me now?”

“Because I don’t want to!” Harry said, angry at Malfoy for trying to push him away. 

“Well you should,” he said, his voice heated “It’s like I told you before, I’m not like your other friends. I’m toxic. I suck in everything good around me and turn it rotten. And... and if you spend time with me, you’ll become toxic too.”

Harry was quiet. He hadn’t been expecting this reaction. He’d expected Malfoy to be upset about the rumors or concerned about what people were thinking about him but this… he’d never expected Malfoy’s wrath to be turned on him. 

And then Malfoy was crying. Harry was unable to move for a moment, so shocked. He was reminded of the bathroom the year before, the curse that had almost cost Malfoy his life. 

He wanted this time to be different. He was tired of Malfoy pushing him away. 

Harry reached a tentative hand out and put it on Malfoy’s shoulder. He didn’t push it away. Encouraged, Harry put his arm around his shoulder and pulled him close. Malfoy rested his head on his shoulder, and Harry could feel the silent tears soaking through his shirt. 

“You’re a good person,” Harry said softly.

Malfoy just kept crying as if he didn't believe him.


	35. Chapter 35

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! Sorry for the late upload, enjoy!

Deep in the Department of Mysteries, in a chamber unused for decades, Narcissa Malfoy approached a cloaked figure sitting very properly in a severe looking wooden chair. The candles on the table cast shadows that all seemed drawn to the person. Narcissa bowed. The figure motioned for her to sit. She took the chair at the opposite end of the table. 

“What news?” 

“Draco’s letters have been… vague. It appears Potter is still having nightmares, but he says nothing else,” Narcissa said. 

Quiet for a moment as the cloaked person contemplated this information. 

“Narcissa,” they spoke slowly, “You assured me the boy could be trusted.” 

“He can!” she said earnestly. 

“Yet he gives us no information.”

“He told us about the nightmares,” Narcissa said pleadingly. 

“For which I am grateful,” the figure said, “If not for his intel we would not have known that our efforts were successful. We have penetrated the boy’s mind, but nothing else. How are we to know the extent of our powers over him if your son continues to offer us no information?” 

“I’m sure there’s an explanation. He’s just a boy; he doesn’t understand the gravity of the situation.” 

“Well make him understand,” the cloaked person said. “If he is not a reliable informant, then he is no use to me. Then _you_ are no use to me.” 

Narcissa sensed danger. With the Dark Lord, she always knew where she stood with him. He was cruel, but incredibly logical. He rarely acted rashly and always relied on his mind rather than his emotions. This new leader was different. Their emotions could shift on a whim. One day you could be their golden child, the next – the object of their scorn. Narcissa made every effort to be the former. It was, after all, their brilliance that had sprung her from Azkaban, and they had promised to release Lucius too if Narcissa proved herself to be invaluable. 

“Speak to the boy. Make sure he understands the importance of detailed reports. He is talented; I would hate to see him put in an unfortunate position. I have connections at the Ministry, you know. All can be restored to your family, but Draco must prove his worth to me.” 

“Of course, Magnificence.” 

A smile from under the hood. 

“I do miss the Dark Lord dearly, but I will never tire of being called that.” 

***

They stayed in the Owlery like that for a long time, well after Malfoy had stopped crying. They were both quiet, scared to say anything. Something had changed between them; Harry could feel it. He wasn’t sure if they could ever go back to the way things had been before Malfoy had cried in his arms.

He wasn’t sure he wanted to. 

After a while, exactly how long, Harry couldn’t say, Malfoy took his head off his shoulder and walked to the Owlery window overlooking the Quidditch pitch. Harry quickly cast a drying charm on his shoulder, getting rid of the tears that had thoroughly soaked it. He considered standing and joining Malfoy at the window but decided to hang back. 

Malfoy spoke abruptly – 

“What do I do now?” 

Harry wasn’t sure what he had expected Malfoy to say, but it wasn’t this. 

“What do you mean?” 

Malfoy turned to face him, the light catching his face and making the redness of his eyes all the more evident. 

“You think I’m a good person. You just said so. How can I be a good person with all the bad things I’ve done? I don’t think I know how.” 

His voice was high-pitched, and he sounded on the verge of sobbing again.

“Listen,” Harry said, in what he desperately hoped was a comforting voice, “You seem like a different person. This Malfoy… he’s not like the one before the war. And even during the war – you _saved_ me. Me, Ron, and ‘Mione – with the Snatchers. You bought us time.” 

He looked confused. 

“What are you talking about?”

“The Snatchers!” Harry said, adamant that Malfoy understood. It had never occurred to him that he wouldn’t remember the encounter at the Manor; every moment of that meeting was carved into Harry’s mind. 

“When the Snatchers and Bellatrix wanted you to identify us,” he explained, “You hesitated. You bought us time. If you had been certain, told them it was definitely us… who knows what would have happened?” 

He gave an involuntary shudder, thinking about the cruelty that could have awaited them if Voldemort had been called just moments earlier. 

Malfoy was looking out the window again. Just as Harry was about to go comfort him again, so certain he would start crying, he started laughing. 

Harry couldn’t speak, he was too surprised at the turn of events. 

“ _That’s_ the reason you think I’m a good person?! Because I didn’t sell you out to the Snatchers?!” 

He could barely speak from laughing. Harry had never seen Malfoy like this; his entire body was doubled over from laughing so hard. Harry stayed quiet, totally at a loss. 

“Potter,” Malfoy said, still laughing but having regained some of his composure, “I didn’t tell the Snatchers it was you because I _hated_ them. I hated everyone then, even my parents, but I hated Bellatrix and the Snatchers the most. The Snatchers were like leeches, selling out everyone and everything for a quick buck. They had no morals, no code. My parents were… well they weren’t doing what was right, but at least they had a code, a morality of sorts even if it was misguided. But those Snatchers… absolute filth. They stood for nothing. As for Bella…” he trailed off. 

Harry waited expectantly. 

“My mother,” he said after a pause, “Is fiercely loyal. The Sorting Hat considered putting her in Hufflepuff, did you know? She would do anything, _anything_ to protect her family.” 

He stopped talking again. Harry could tell this story was difficult to tell and didn’t press him. Eventually, Malfoy continued. 

“Bella knew this. She knew everything about Mother. Once my family fell out of favor, Bella immediately made it clear she would choose… _him_ over her family.”

He sank to the floor and sat cross-legged. Harry crawled over and sat across from him, their knees almost touching. He could feel the distance between them, like an electric current. 

“Mother wanted out. She’d never been a very devout supporter, but she loved my father and would do anything for him. Loyal to a fault. She stuck beside him even if it meant pledging herself to a cause she didn’t really believe in. Bella had always suspected this, always knew Mother wasn’t prepared to sacrifice herself or her family for the cause. She had always resented my mother for this, and the moment we fell out of favor, Bella used it as an excuse to make our lives, my _mother’s_ life a living hell. Revenge for not being as devoted as she was.”

His fists were clenched, and he had withdrawn his legs to his chest, holding them close. He was looking past Harry, lost in memories Harry was certain he’d rather forget. 

“She was evil. And I know you think my father and mother were like that, maybe even thought I was like that, but I promise you, we were nothing, nothing compared to Aunt Bella.” 

“I never thought you were like her,” Harry said. Lucius, maybe. But Malfoy? No. Bellatrix was a pure-blood crazed maniac; Malfoy was a kid who grew up being told one thing his entire life, and had to learn the hard way that it wasn't right.

He didn’t acknowledge the response, but Harry knew he’d heard it. 

“I had second thoughts the minute I joined. Until then, it was just a way to make my father happy. I always knew what their mission was and what they were capable of, but it wasn’t until I saw up close that I realized how sick it all was. There was one time, with the old Muggle Studies teacher – ”

Harry squeezed his eyes shut, having already encountered the particular memory Malfoy was recounting. 

“– and they just killed her,” he was saying. “A lesson, it was supposed to be a lesson about pure-blood supremacy. And I remember thinking, ‘Granger’s a real bitch, but she’s smart as hell.’ And that was the thing. They kept saying muggles are evil and mudb– muggle-born witches and wizards stole magic and weren’t as smart as us, but it didn’t add up because Granger beat me on ever test. I guess a lot of things didn’t add up.” 

He was looking down at his knees now. Harry waited, not wanting to interrupt the emotional confessions Malfoy was expressing. 

“It took a long time to sort of realize that I had to get out. And even then, it was hard. My father is a piece of shit, I know that, but I still wanted him to be proud of me. Still _want_ him to be proud of me, even now. Isn’t that stupid?” 

The question was rhetorical, but Harry answered anyway.

“My parents have been dead for almost eighteen years. I never knew them. And I still want them to be proud of me. No, I don’t think it’s stupid.” 

Malfoy finally met his eyes. 

Quiet for a moment, and then – 

“So what now?” 

The question he'd began with. Harry thought for a moment. 

“Well,” he said slowly, “We should make the potion. Pick a spot and start brewing. And then… maybe you should talk to Hermione.” 

Malfoy looked as though Harry had asked him to eat a dung beetle whole.

“Talk to Granger? And say what?” 

“Tell her what you told me,” Harry explained patiently. 

“I – I don’t think she’d want to speak with me,” Malfoy said. 

“Why?”

“Why?” Malfoy looked shocked at having to explain himself. “Potter… I was absolutely wretched to her. I called her awful names and insulted her every chance I got to make myself feel more worthy of my father’s approval.” 

“Tell her that,” Harry said. “She’s pretty understanding, Hermione is. Talk to her; say you’re sorry. You say you want to be a better person. I’m telling you that you already are, but it won’t matter if you don’t tell the people you were shitty to that you’re sorry.”

After a moment of hesitation, Malfoy nodded. 

“Okay?” Harry asked. 

“Yeah, alright. I’ll try.” 

Harry grinned and clapped Malfoy on the back. This seemed to bring Malfoy back to his senses. He stood up to leave, but before walking out the door, turned back and said, 

“Oh, and Potter? If you _ever_ tell anyone about this…” 

He didn’t finish his sentence, but the memory of Harry’s tearstained shoulder wasn’t one that he needed Malfoy to explain. 

“Don’t worry; secret’s safe with me.” 

Malfoy nodded and left. Harry lingered staring out the window and wondering what Hermione would think.


End file.
